


lavagirl, who?

by singularitory



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Fluff and Angst, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Na Jaemin Are Best Friends, M/M, Mild Angst, Multi, Swearing, Sweet Mark Lee (NCT), background norenmin - Freeform, kitsune hyuck, light violence bc demons, we stan nahyuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-29 23:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singularitory/pseuds/singularitory
Summary: You see, Donghyuck has a big ass secret - two, actually.1. He’s a kitsune. Yes, yes. A kitsune, the “badass” Japanese fox spirit.2. Donghyuck is helplessly in love with his best friend, Mark Lee. Did he mention that unfortunate penalty of the stupid fucking universe?





	lavagirl, who?

**Author's Note:**

> real quick tw:
> 
> donghyuck struggles w some anxiety, and there is a brief depiction of a panic attack. 
> 
> hope u enjoy ,,,,

 

Donghyuck doesn’t understand a plethora of things: calculus, politics, the unexplainable reason of why his three idiotic friends aren’t dating yet, etc.

But mostly, he doesn’t understand his fucking life.

You see, Donghyuck has a big ass secret - two, actually.

1\. He’s a kitsune. Yes, yes. A kitsune, the “badass” Japanese fox spirit. Also yes, Donghyuck is aware he’s Korean. Apparently his great-great-great-great grandfather was Japanese though, and he somehow managed to inherit the trait.

(“It’s a recessive trait,” his mother claims, as if that’s a sufficient explanation as to why her son can literally catch flame and heal rapidly.)

_The worst part_ , Donghyuck thinks, _is probably the whole ‘killing evil Oni demons that continually try to fucking hunt me’ thing._

Oh also,

2\. Donghyuck’s helplessly in love with his best friend, Mark Lee. Did he mention that unfortunate penalty of the stupid fucking universe?

 

_

 

Arguably, the best part of Donghyuck’s shitty situation is that his best friend (“Of course you can have more than one. Don’t be ridiculous, Hyuck.”) and roommate, Na Jaemin, knows. Knows everything.

His contact name was literally ‘Benevolent Jaemin’ for about two weeks, courtesy of Jaemin who had once snatched his phone straight out of his hand and fucking sprinted to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door while screaming insults victoriously.

So when Donghyuck arrives home, dark jacket covering his singed shirt and battered arms, hood pulled up to cover sweaty hair and the massive bruise blooming on his cheekbone, Jaemin doesn’t even blink.

He simply says, “Go shower, you smell like a human match. Food’s in the microwave.” Donghyuck’s eternally grateful. He’s also grateful that he was able to ward the dorm against Oni. That’d be an absolute fucking nightmare.

You see, tonight, he was just peacefully minding his own goddamn business, running laps around the track on campus, when two Oni had appeared in front of him. They had completely ruined his momentum and his favorite running shirt. How inconsiderate.

Donghyuck shuffles into his room, hastily grabbing some (hopefully) clean clothes before heading into the bathroom and turning on the shower absentmindedly.

He catches a glance of himself in the mirror, and damn, he looks pretty fucking terrible, especially without the jacket obscuring his face. His lip’s busted, dry blood caking the area around it and slightly below. His left cheekbone is bright red, the edges already beginning to purple.

He realizes now that he should have ducked. His dumbass had tried to block the Oni’s oncoming sword, and had consequently knocked himself in the face from the transferred force of the swing.

His face doesn’t compare to his hands though. His knuckles are swollen and covered by a thin piece of his torn shirt, wrapped hastily after they were sliced open by the Oni’s sword. He hopes they’ll heal by morning.

(His healing is a bit unpredictable though. He likes to think of it as a tank, that has to preserve in fear of running out. Most of the reserves go for the worst injuries, but some healing mojo is automatically saved and distributed to bruises and cuts. It never bothers with soreness, which irritates Donghyuck to no end.)

The tips of his fingers are still singed black, but luckily, the skin’s still there. They always remain that way for a few hours after he uses his flames. Every part of him is fireproof except for his fingertips, which consequently hurt like hell.

The last thing Donghyuck notes are his eyes. They usually glint an amber color, flames swimming just underneath, but tonight, they glow gold. The telltale sign of his power.

He knows they look inhuman at times like this. He knows they make him feel that way too. He rips his gaze away from the mirror, noting the steam starting to crawl across it, and steps into the shower, still fully clothed.

The water is scorching. Donghyuck’s skin catches flame instantly, evaporating any water that falls upon his tan skin. The steam seems to suffocate him. He barely suppresses the urge to cough - and maybe to flip the shower off and slink to the floor in self pity.

Instead, he sighs, exhausted, and turns the water as cold as possible, watching as it slowly tames his fire and leaves him feeling entirely hollow.

_Another day, I guess._

 

_

 

Donghyuck wakes up the next day due to the sun shining right in his face. How pleasant. Generally, he loves the sun but not when it disturbs his sleep. He groans, shoving his pillow over his head in a poor attempt to avoid the oncoming day.

He feels like complete and utter shit.

Well, that may be an understatement.

His body aches, all over. His face stings slightly, the new skin tight and delicate, but he’s thankful that the bruise appears to be nonexistent, even when it’s not fully healed underneath.

His hands, however, throb. He doesn’t even want to look at them, but he concedes, discarding the pillow covering his head.

Predictably, they look horrible. He hadn’t fully seen them last night due to the poor bathroom lighting and the blood soaked shirt bandaged around them.

The cuts are sealed, although barely, even a paper cut could probably reopen the wound. The swelling has gone down slightly, but they are now distinctly purple. The surrounding skin is cracked and chapped, looking mildly disgusting.

He winces even flexing his hands.

_Wow, today’s going to be great._

A soft knock at the door steals his attention away from his tattered hands.

“Donghyuckie, you awake yet?” a familiar voice complains, cracking the door open.

“Sorta,” Donghyuck croaks back, voice still laced with sleep.

Jaemin strolls over to the edge of the bed, taking in Donghyuck’s appearance blankly. “How bad?”

Donghyuck shrugs innocently.

Jaemin’s not having it. “How bad?” he repeats ( _like Barbossa’s goddamn parrot,_ his brain helpfully supplies), voice even.

Donghyuck turns his hands over, letting Jaemin’s gaze take notice of his blistered fingertips.

“Oh thank god,” breathes Jaemin, in conjunction with the tanned boy’s sigh of relief.

A punch to the shoulder. Donghyuck tries not to wince or worse, flinch. “You fucking idiot, someday you’re going to ruin your fucking hands.”

The orange-haired boy rolls his eyes dramatically. “No, I won’t,” He probably will. “You know I’m careful.”

The slightly-younger boy narrows his eyes. “Lee Donghyuck, when have you ever been careful about anything, in your entire fucking life?”

The only thing that comes to his mind is Mark, and he’s not quite quick enough to conceal the thought from his facial expression. Jaemin smirks, amused.

“Ah, Mark Lee. That’s right.” Yes, unfortunately, Jaemin is aware of both of his secrets.

Donghyuck frowns, uses his palm to slap Jaemin’s arm. (Normally, he’d straight up punch him, but you know, his knuckles are currently fucked.) “Stop smirking, you look like a fucking frat boy.”

An obnoxious eye roll. “He’s obviously smitten with you, just confess already.”

“Jeno and Renjun are obviously smitten with you, just confess already,” Donghyuck mocks. Jaemin’s expression shifts slightly, and he mercifully drops the topic.

Then, Jaemin laughs loudly, a little too loud for the early morning hours, before his expression turns solemn once more. “Just please _attempt_ to be careful, Hyuckie.”

“I know, Nana,” he replies softly, meeting the other boy’s chocolate eyes.

Jaemin pats his arm lightly before getting up. He pauses on his way out, turning slightly to add, “Breakfast’s on the stove. Last night’s dinner is in the fridge too.”

Donghyuck gives a small smile in return, inclining his head in acknowledgment.

He’s not sure what he’d do without Na Jaemin.

 

_

 

Donghyuck miraculously manages to drag himself out of the welcoming comfort of his bed and even more miraculously, manages to drag himself to class.

Exhaustion seemingly seeps through his very pores, proven when he didn’t even realize he fucking grabbed Jaemin’s apple juice until he takes a bite of apple juice infused cereal. Donghyuck certainly does not recommend. Absolutely fucking disgusting.

And seriously, who the fuck buys apple juice at nineteen years age old?

(“It’s good! It reminds me of our childhood, bitch,” Jaemin always argues.

“It reminds me that my best friend is a fucking four year old.”)

He also had to run back to the dorm to grab gloves, his hands too battered to openly display, and in the process, he managed to spill Jaemin’s leftover coffee all over the front of his black Champion hoodie, effectively soaking the dark fabric and making it stick in uncomfortable positions.

Donghyuck sighs deeply at the slowly drying coffee-soaked hoodie and makes his way to the back left corner of the classroom. He always tends to get to class slightly early, mainly to ensure his seat isn’t taken. Sitting in the back brings him comfort. He’d rather pretend to be invisible than have a painfully uncomfortable interaction with any of his classmates.

He’s not much of a conversationalist, what can he say?

He opts to pull out his phone and AirPods instead. Opening SoundCloud, the familiar playlist posted by MLee99 sits at the top of his scratched screen. The soothing voice floods in through his AirPods, causing Donghyuck to smile slightly. He always has loved Mark’s music.

His phone vibrates, and he sees the green messages app levitating a one beside it. Donghyuck feels his eye twitch slightly. He hates when the messages app resembles fucking Rafiki and Simba. (“ _There’s only one Rafiki and Simba, jesus fucking christ!”)_ He quickly opens the message, eager to extinguish the notification.

 

_message received at 1:28 pm_

 

_morkus leeus_ : Coach extended practice til 4 ))))): but we can still cacth dinner afterwards , if u want ofc

catch*** I love typing

 

_the ugly hyuckling_ : lecture ends at trois ,,,,, ++++ ill just wait 4u at rnk.

lmao loser

 

_morkus leeus_ : What class ? ohand Ok see u then

ey Don’t loser me u literally sent french we’re literally korean Hyuck

 

_the ugly hyuckling_ : intro to fem, gender, & sexuality studies duh hbsifhsfsf +++ shut the fuck up morkus & go freeze to death

 

Initially, Donghyuck was planning to major in dance. He won’t lie; he’s disappointed in himself for backing out, purely due to paranoia and nerves, but he truly does enjoy his major. Guess it’s a win-win after all.

 

_morkus leeus_ : AhAH have fun w/ prof Na. Ya ya love u 2 Hyuckie

 

_the ugly hyuckling_ : i like prof na hes chill + he d0esnt a cknowledge my existence oOps

 

_morkus leeus_ : Evryone knows he onlyacknowledges prof dong anyways LMAO

 

Donghyuck lightly snorts aloud, glancing around nervously to make sure no one heard him.

It’s not that he cares about other people’s opinions, per se. It’s simply because he doesn’t want the attention. Especially not from strangers that he doesn’t particularly want to be around anyways.

 

_the ugly hyuckling_ : queso,,,, pls dont capitalize lmao thats just painful to look at u fuckin heathen

 

_morkus leeus_ : LMAO. Put ur phone away ur lecture’s abouta start

 

Glancing at the time, he hastily removes his AirPods and shoves his phone away, wrestling his spiral notebook out of his mess of a messenger bag, preparing to take occasional notes and doodle on the margins absently.

 

_

 

Lecture seems to drone on for fucking ever, but Donghyuck isn’t exactly complaining. He actually, surprisingly, really enjoys the class.

The clock creeps to the end of class achingly slow, but as soon as it switches to three, Donghyuck is out of the door. He always is, proudly, the first one out. No way in Hell is he waiting for the traffic of actual people.

God, he’d probably pass out, trying to deal with that many people clustered. He shudders even thinking about it.

It doesn’t take him very long to reach the rink. It is on the edge of campus, only a five minute walk from the social sciences and cultural/gender studies buildings.

The walk is, expectedly, nice, especially with the familiar lull of Paramore’s ‘brand new eyes’ flooding in through his AirPods. The cool breeze of autumn settles over campus, sending flurries of red-orange leaves occasionally.

Plus, part of the peacefulness is due to Donghyuck’s frequent visits to the rink, meaning he knows all the short cuts and methods to avoid as many people as possible.

The rink looks the same as always, the cracked navy paint on the walls, the worn grey bleachers. The smell of sweat, deodorant, and the Febreeze added into the air conditioning lingers in the air. Even the typical, over-played 90s music is the same as always. Donghyuck realizes he has a love-hate relationship with the rink.

He loves the peacefulness of it. No one really hangs out at the rink, only a few stragglers, because hockey isn’t the main sport of the school or anything. The tameness quiets his mind, allows him to focus on just simply watching the team. He loves observing the team, specifically seeing Mark in his element. In the cold.

But at the same time, Donghyuck burns. He is a child of the heat, of the sun, through and through. It is odd to feel slightly cold on the outside too, not that Donghyuck ever actually gets cold, more so a slight chill and the condensing feeling of the air settling around him. It is almost stifling, sometimes suffocating.

It’s hard for him to explain.

But the moment he catches Mark’s dark eyes and offers a hesitant smile, Mark breaks out into a bright grin, and Donghyuck feels like it’s easier to breathe. Maybe he’s not entirely trapped.

Donghyuck can easily remember the moment he first met Mark Lee. They were in middle school; Donghyuck was thirteen while Mark was fourteen.

It was PE class, and the eighth grade boys’ class joined with the seventh to, and Donghyuck quotes, “give each boy a fresh set of experiences, as well as faces.”

What kinda bullshit is that?  
Donghyuck had lingered on the outskirts of the gym, forcibly participating but wishing he was in the music room down the hallway, alone.

A wiry boy with dark, shaggy hair, paired with glasses and braces approached him, stumbling like a newborn giraffe. The boy had blushed and introduced himself twice, once in English and once in Korean. And with two different names.

Donghyuck stared at him blankly as the boy grew more flustered, his blush deepening and a hand coming up to rub at his nape awkwardly.

He laughed uncomfortably, and to Donghyuck, it was oddly endearing.

Donghyuck had nodded at the boy and said, “Lee Donghyuck.”

The boy’s face contorted in confusion. “That’s not what I sa-”

Earned a major eye roll from the younger boy. “Yes, dumbass, I know. My name is Lee Donghyuck. I know you’re Mark Lee or Lee Minhyung or whatever the fuck else you just said.”

“You shouldn’t swear,” Mark began, chewing on his lip.

Donghyuck had only grinned back.

The two have been inseparable ever since then.

His nostalgic thoughts distract him. Until, he sees a dark flash from the corner of his eye, just for a brief second. He knows immediately. Donghyuck barely refrains from sighing.

_Right fucking now. Are you fucking kidding me?_

He tears his gaze away, rising to his feet immediately. He waves at Mark to avoid suspicion, trying to school his expression into something neutral before scurrying off to the restroom, knowing it’ll follow him.

And he’s right, of course. He’s done this a million times.

As soon as the restroom door clanks shut, the Oni materializes in front of him, pitiless eyes staring emptily into his own amber ones. Its body is lithe, but the edges blur, almost as if the demon is nothing more than smoke. The silver mask is slightly obscured by the black hood the Oni wears.

Donghyuck absently wonders if there is anything under the mask.

He removes his gloves and hoodie, with a speed that only comes from practice, and feels flames beginning to lick up and down his arms. The flames curl around his fingers, and Donghyuck offers a crooked grin.

His hands still sting from the previous night, but here, in the dingy men’s bathroom of the ice rink, encapsulated by his own flames, Donghyuck is in his element.

The Oni unsheathes its sleek, sly sword and swings at an inhuman speed, to which Donghyuck easily dodges. He’s danced this choreography an exponential amount of times.

A swing. Dodge. A kick. Block. Over and over and over.

The Oni disappears only to reappear directly behind the tanned boy, who glides out of the way just after being narrowly grazed by the tip of the demon’s blade. Donghyuck feels his skin on his cheek start to bubble and smoke. Oni blades are pesky, indeed.

Donghyuck’s had enough. Instead of blocking the next strike, he grabs the sword by its blackened blade, feels his skin begin to disintegrate off. He doesn’t care. His flames grow brighter, burn hotter.

The blade melts completely, and Donghyuck watches in satisfaction as the Oni is reduced to nothing but ash. The sword encapsulates the Oni’s soul, meaning you get rid of the sword then poof goes the Oni. Quite literally.

The adrenaline wears off, so annoyingly enough, pain floods his senses. His flames blink out, but the residue of the smell of matches resides in the air.

He glances in the mirror. The sleeves of his white t-shirt are singed slightly, and he overall looks horribly disheveled. His hair is a sweaty mess, and there is a fresh cut on his cheek, looking grey-ish yet somehow dripping blood. Donghyuck burns the wound closed with his pinkie, before taking notice of how white his fingertips are.

The skin has already bubbled white, a pink cast surrounding the irritated skin. Thankfully, the knuckle wounds healed enough during class that they didn’t reopen during the fight, only swelled once more.

The, arguably, most irritating part, are his eyes. They glow bright gold, a wonderful reminder that _Hey Donghyuck, you just used your quirky little flame powers good fucking luck._ He hopes they’ll dim enough to be unnoticed by his best friend.

Donghyuck sighs and shrugs his hoodie back on, sliding the gloves back on his shaky hands. He hears the scoreboard scream loudly, indicating the end of practice.

“Aw, fuck,” he mumbles, attempting to rinse his face and tame his hair. The gloves are consequently soaked in cold water, to which Donghyuck hisses as the chill touches his ruined fingertips. At this point, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have fingerprints.

He sneaks out of the bathroom and skitters over to the shoddy bleachers, hoping Mark’s not out of the locker room yet.

Thankfully, he’s not, so Donghyuck takes the opportunity to whip out his phone and pretend like he has his life together. Meaning scrolling mindlessly through Twitter as if he didn’t just kill a demon in the restroom.

“Hyuckie,” a sudden voice calls out, easily transitioning Donghyuck’s attention from the dance department’s recent tweet about their new assistant instructor (some guy named Ten, what the fuck?) to his favorite loser.

Unsurprisingly, the sight of Mark makes Donghyuck’s chest tighten. It’s odd how Mark can make him feel lighter but heavier at the same time. The sight of Mark alone is both freeing and suffocating.

It’s been like this since high school, when Mark suddenly gained height and lost his dorky glasses and clear braces. Maybe that’s when Donghyuck fell for him. He can’t quite remember.

He’s been in love with Mark Lee for what feels like forever. Donghyuck’s content with that.

Especially when Mark smiles at him, close-lipped. The small action makes Donghyuck feel warm inside, an odd contrast to the cold he usually feels. He doesn’t exactly welcome the feeling, but he politely smiles back, praying his smile isn’t as wobbly as it feels.

As Mark gets closer to him, his smile falters slightly, the right side of his mouth curving downwards and dragging the left side along, shortly after.

Donghyuck blinks, and suddenly, Mark is standing a little too close to him, thumbing gently against the skin of Donghyuck’s cheek, right over the freshly flame-sealed cut.

And it is at times like this that Donghyuck thinks maybe, just maybe, his feelings aren’t unrequited. It’s times like this when he thinks, _this is too fond to be brotherly, right?_ The thoughts only linger for a split second before he snaps back to reality.

Donghyuck flinches backwards immediately, Mark’s eyes going wide at the gesture.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Mark begins, looking extremely panicked.

Donghyuck shakes his head, cutting the older boy off, “It’s okay.” It’s not okay. Donghyuck feels as if his entire body is going to catch flame. He’s afraid. He’s so afraid.

He takes another step back.

“I think Jaemin made dinner,” he blurts, absently fiddling with the cuff of his damp glove.

Mark nods silently.

 

The walk back to the dorm is, blessedly, not horribly awkward. Granted, it’s a bit tense to begin with, but neither boy are inclined to let it stay that way.

“I take it you didn’t break any bones during practice,” Donghyuck jokes, painfully attempting to dissolve the slightly uncomfortable air.

Mark laughs, softly. (Donghyuck internally counts it as a win.) “Not that I’m aware of. Though, Xuxi did accidentally hit me with the puck a few times, which definitely lets a few bruises.”

_Oh boo-fucking-hoo, a few little bruises,_ Donghyuck sarcastically thinks.

“Sucks,” he replies instead.

“Yeah,” the black-haired boy glances at him. “Oh, I forgot to ask where you disappeared to after you waved,” he finishes, straining a laugh. Donghyuck tries not to wince.

Keeping his expression closed, “Oh, Mom called. Wanted to make sure I could hear her. Plus, she took for-fucking-ever telling me about how Jisung is doing in school and how he’s always with Chenle or whatever.”

Mark’s obviously not buying it, but he drops the subject, which fills Donghyuck with sudden relief.

They arrive at Donghyuck and Jaemin’s dorm, where three others are already residing. They don’t even seem to notice Mark and Donghyuck’s presence. Jaemin is too busy cooking with the assistance of Jeno and Renjun, who keep gazing at the younger boy fondly. Donghyuck thinks he might throw up.

“Yo, bitch. I’m home,” he sing-songs, drawing the three boys’ attention. Jeno looks up curiously, Renjun gives him a blank stare, and Jaemin rolls his eyes fondly, not looking up from where he’s chopping vegetables.

“Hey Donghyuck, hey Mark,” Jaemin replies monotonously.

Mark looks slightly lost, shoulders hunched almost imperceptibly. “How’d you-”

Jaemin finally looks up, giving the oldest boy the driest look. “You’re always here. Of fucking course, I knew it was you.”

Mark’s gaze drops along with his shoulders. He glances at Donghyuck for help. Donghyuck only shrugs in a ‘Jaemin’s-actually-right-for-once’ kind of way.

“Go wash up. Dinner will be ready in a bit,” the pink-haired boy adds, once realizing that neither Mark nor Donghyuck are planning to respond.

(Donghyuck knows this translates to: “Hyuck, I can smell your disgusting burnt flesh slash match stick odor from here. Go fucking shower, or I’m not feeding you.”)

Donghyuck rolls his eyes dramatically. “Yes, Mom.”

Jaemin throws a carrot at him.

Donghyuck learns that projectile carrots are not fun to be hit with.

 

 

_

 

Donghyuck emerges from the bathroom, towel slung around his shoulders and wet, orange-hair plastered to his forehead. He knows his body temperature will dry it soon enough. He is adorning baggy sweatpants and one of his older brother’s oversized shirts. (He’ll never understand why Johnny was blessed with height, but he wasn’t. So fucking unfair.)

He finds a wild Mark Lee sprawled across his grey comforter. With his fucking shoes on. Fucking heathen.

“Take your fucking shoes off. You’re gonna get dirt all over my bed,” Donghyuck complains loudly, sitting on the edge of the bed, furthest away from the other boy.

Mark sits up and diligently removes his shoes per request but not before catching a glimpse of Donghyuck’s hands. He reaches for them, but stops when Donghyuck shrinks back.

“Hyuck,” he begins tentatively, trying to catch Donghyuck’s eyes. “What happened to your hands?”

Donghyuck refuses to make eye contact. He only shakes his head, eyes intently trained on the floor.

Mark sighs shakily. “I take it you aren’t willing to share what happened to your cheek either?”

Donghyuck closes his eyes tightly and shakes his head again. He feels the older boy lay back on the bed, the cheap mattress squeaking obnoxiously in protest.

“I just,” Mark tapers off. Donghyuck finally looks at him, figuring Mark’s gaze is pinned to the ceiling. It’s not. Mark’s eyes are locked on him, conflicting emotions flickering like unreachable images. Donghyuck averts his gaze again. “I just worry about you, okay.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” the younger boy murmurs, almost too quiet to be heard.

He hears Mark breathe in deeply and audibly exhale. “You don’t need to apologize. Just know I’m here to listen, at any time. Okay?”

“Okay,” Donghyuck whispers back.

And this, this is the reason. This is the reason that Donghyuck is in love with Mark Lee. He knows he can trust Mark. He knows Mark will always stand by his side. He knows, he knows, he knows. But he’s scared. And how could he even begin to explain everything without passing out?

Donghyuck has so many unspoken thoughts, unspoken words. The words threaten to choke him in times like this, but sometimes, he just can’t fucking speak.

He drowns quietly.

Donghyuck isn’t sure how much time has passed before he hears Jaemin’s obnoxious voice yelling that dinner’s ready.

Mark stands up first, offering his hand out to Donghyuck in assistance. He ignores it, fails to notice how Mark’s expression falls.

 

 

The trio are sprawled across the couch - and each other. Renjun’s legs are across Jaemin’s lap, plate balanced precariously on the pillow settled on the petite boy’s knees. Jeno is on the other side of Jaemin, right arm snaked around the pink-haired boy’s shoulders, left arm diligently supplying himself with noodles.

“On the stove,” Jeno pipes, as they enter the living room.

Donghyuck nods while Mark jokes, “Aw, no plates prepared for us?”

Renjun fixes him with a look utterly devoid of anything except ‘are-you-fucking-dumb’. _Typical Renjun look._ Donghyuck almost smiles to himself at the thought.

Mark raises his hands in defeat, striding over to the kitchen. Donghyuck’s eyes meet Jaemin’s for a split second.

A second later, his phone dings. This time he can’t prevent the corners of his mouth raising slightly.

 

_message received at 5:02 pm_

 

_na squared:_ on a level oF 1 - 10 how not oka aRe u

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ uh,,,,,,a six mayB

 

_na squared:_ what happen3d

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ u know,,,, the usual. i cant tll him anythn +++++ no touch for hyuck wwaaaa hahahah end me xxx,,,x

 

_na squared:_ :((( im sry hyuckie. mayB u should tll him (?)

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ xxxx did u hear my scoff from tha lvng room

 

_na squared:_ im srs hyuck. u kno u cAn trst him

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ i know nana +++++ but m not feelin a bbq-d mork today yknow

 

_na squared:_ bUt id briNg the sauceeeee :///:(((

buT srsly hyuckie u w0uldnt let that hpn

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ not on purpose xx +++++ tis not so simple ,,, le sigh

 

“You okay?” a voice asks suddenly, hints of worry lacing the edges.

Donghyuck’s head snaps up, hands automatically locking his phone and sliding it into his sweat’s left pocket. He barely manages to suppress a wince when his aching hands rub against the rough inside pocket of his sweats.

“Huh?” he replies intelligently.

Mark is staring at him, one hand holding an unbalanced plate of noodles. Some of which are not-so-mysteriously plastered on the tile floor. Internally, Donghyuck sighs, knowing he’ll have to mop the sticky area later.

“I asked if you were okay,” Mark repeats, eyes inviting.

_It’d be so easy,_ Donghyuck thinks, _yet_ _so difficult to tell him everything. To explain why I always am battered and smelling like a fucking lit match. That I am the lit match._

Instead, he offers a small, not-quite forced but not-quite real smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

Mark’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. (Donghyuck notices anyways. He notices every little thing about Mark.) “You just looked kinda tense,” the older boy finishes lamely.

“Just Johnny gushing about Jaehyun again. Absolutely disgusting,” Donghyuck lies easily.

The slight narrowing of Mark’s eyes disappears, which Donghyuck counts as a small victory. “Unfortunately, Taeyong does the same thing.”

Donghyuck’s eyebrows raise in interest. “Taeyong has a boyfriend?”

Mark blushes, and Donghyuck resists the urge to coo. “No, no. Not yet at least. He just gushes constantly about a new Thai exchange student.”

Mark’s plate-holding hand tilts slightly more, and Donghyuck absentmindedly reaches forward, using one hand to balance the plate and the other to catch a few stray noodles that were about to land on his poor kitchen floor.

“Oh, what’s his name?”

Mark’s eyes are wide, shock morphing his features. Donghyuck feels the annoying familiarity of panic crawl up his spine. He takes a few steps back.

“What’s his name?” Donghyuck asks again, trying to calm his shaking hands. He won’t panic. _It’s not a big deal, Donghyuck. Calm the fuck down._

Mark blinks, almost as if waking from a dream. “Uh, I think it’s Ten or something.”  
Donghyuck’s mind races for a response, and he barely remembers the dance program’s latest tweet. His brain clicks and, thankfully, calms slightly. “Oh, the new assistant dance instructor.”

“Yeah, how’d you know about that?” Mark sets the plate down and leans against the counter, facing towards the living room rather than Donghyuck. (Donghyuck’s grateful.)

“Twitter.”

Mark’s face scrunches in disgust. Donghyuck is offended. “I’ll have you know Twitter is for intellectuals and resident crackheads, Mark Lee. It’s the most wonderful place on Earth.”

A smile breaks across the older boy’s face, and he laughs gently. “Only you would say that.”

“Because obviously I’m the best,” Donghyuck remarks, flipping his imaginary hair.

Mark turns to look at him then, face illuminated by the dim kitchen lights. “Yeah, you are.”

Donghyuck looks away and quietly escorts himself out of the kitchen, not bothering with food.

He wanders into the living room, taking the single seat adjacent to the couch currently occupied by the three lovebirds.

(“Stop fucking calling us that, you know we aren’t together.”

“Yet.”

“I’m going to kill you, Lee Donghyuck.”)

Jaemin frowns at the emptiness of his hands. “Did you eat in the kitchen?” he asks, as Mark shuffles in with the ridiculous noodle plate in tow. The pink-haired boy’s frown deepens.

Donghyuck shrugs innocently, choosing to stare at the coffee table rather than Jaemin’s piercing stare or Mark’s concerned one. “Not hungry,” he manages to mumble in response.

“‘Not hungry,’” the younger boy mocks, but cuts off abruptly as Mark gently shakes his head. The action irks Donghyuck slightly. He appreciates the gesture and all, but he can defend himself fine. Plus, he knows Jaemin is only worried about him.

_Nothing new._

“So bitches, what are we watching?” a voice pierces through, effectively eliminating the conversation. Donghyuck mentally thanks Renjun for the change in subject.

Jeno shrugs, to which Renjun sighs. Jaemin opens his mouth to speak, but Renjun quickly cuts him off, “Nana, I love you, but if you fucking say a Marvel movie, I will end you.” Jeno ducks his head to cover his smile, while Jaemin flushes. Donghyuck watches incredulously.

“I have to agree with Injun on this one, Nana,” Jeno says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “You’ve made us sit through every movie a few too many times.”

Jaemin pouts. Jeno’s responding smile causes his eyes to form crescents. Renjun rolls his eyes at the two of them affectionately. Donghyuck feels like a fourth wheel at his own fucking apartment. He should sue. He risks a quick glance at Mark, who looks painfully uncomfortable.

Donghyuck bursts out laughing, shattering the moment completely. “I’m- I’m sorry,” he manages to say through multiple breaths, “this is so fucking sappy, and Mark and I are just awkwardly sitting here feeling like we’re watching one of those cheesy ass dramas Jaemin secretly loves.”

Jaemin faux-scowls at him. “As if you haven’t watched a few with me.”

Donghyuck tsks. He hears Mark snicker.

“Guys,” Mark begins, laughter present in his voice, “seriously, what are we gonna watch?” Donghyuck wonders why he added the seriously despite the question containing barely restrained laughter.

“Donghyuck hasn’t seen Stranger Things,” blurts Jaemin.

Donghyuck gasps dramatically. “How dare you betray me like this, Na.”

“Na? What am I to you? Sodium?” Mark dies laughing at the joke, like the fucking nerd he is, and Donghyuck, fleetingly, feels a wide smile overtake his face at the sound. He wishes it didn’t dim so soon.

Donghyuck feels the familiar itch of doubt start to creep up his skull. He resists the urge to scratch it until it bleeds, leaving him empty. He ignores it, as best as possible.

“Jaem, we’re Korean,” Jeno murmurs.

Jaemin flicks his forehead and sends a greasy wink. “Shh.”

“Hyuck, you’re a disgrace to Gen Z,” Renjun loudly declares over the other two boys, expression completely serious.

Donghyuck tries to look sad, but can’t keep the corners of his mouth from twitching in amusement. He feels odd, amusement and nervousness swirling together. “We been knew.”

His comment is promptly ignored. “How have you not fucking seen Stranger Things?” continues Renjun, sounding as if Donghyuck had personally murdered his cat.

Donghyuck shrugs, gradually becoming tired of being the center of attention. The jokes are fine, but he’s not sure if he can keep up for much longer. He’s not great at conversations once his brain starts whirring. What if he says the wrong thing? What if he’s not clever or quick enough? What if, what if, what if?

He knows it shouldn’t matter. But it does. It does to him.

He hates it.

“Fuck it,” retorts the petite blonde-haired boy, “we’re officially binge-watching both seasons. You better fucking prepare yourself, you fucking bitch.”

“Rude. I’ll have you know I’m actually a hyucking bitch,” he manages to fire back, trying to ignore the way his last words choked off a bit. Renjun, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice.

Mark, however, does. He opens his mouth, closes it. Donghyuck smiles sadly at him, mouthing a ‘thank you’ before focusing his attention to the TV, hoping his brain quiets for once.

 

_

 

The group manages to make it through all of season one before Donghyuck starts nodding off, exhaustion from fighting the Oni earlier in the day finally accumulating with his shitty sleep schedule and making him feel like a human rag doll. Pleasant.

“Hyuck,” an unnecessarily loud voice snaps, jolting Donghyuck from his half-conscious state.

“Don’t do that,” Mark’s quiet voice replies, sharp.

Donghyuck peels his eyes open, takes notice of the Chinese boy’s raised brow and Mark’s unusually serious expression.

Donghyuck yawns loudly, and Mark’s expression seems to soften. “It’s ‘kay,” he mumbles, words slurring slightly.

Renjun opens his mouth, undoubtedly to tease Donghyuck and be his usual bitchy self, but Jeno prevents him. “It’s getting late. Let’s restart season two some other night.”

Donghyuck didn’t know they had even started the second season. How long had he been out?

Mark must have taken notice of Donghyuck’s confusion because like some fucking telepathic, he mouths, “Two episodes.” Donghyuck almost gapes. That long? Maybe, he should rely more on sleep and less on coffee. _Pfft, as if._

Renjun and Jeno leave first, Jeno insisting on walking Renjun home despite being on different floors and despite the older boy’s protests.

(“You really don’t need to. Yangyang should be home already, anyways. He said he was only studying with Hendery and Xiaojun for a few hours.”

“It’s okay, I want to. Plus, Nana might kill me if I don’t.”

“What?”

“Huh, nothing.”)

Donghyuck’s eyes slide shut again, the dim voices of Mark and Jaemin fading easily into the background.

“Hyuck.” A whisper, more breath than actual sound.

“Hm,” the tanned boy grumbles in response, cracking his eyes barely open.

Mark is hovering over him, eyes wide and wondrous. “Can I?”

Donghyuck has no idea what the fuck his best friend is talking about, but he nods, brain muddled sleepily. Mark places a gentle kiss to his forehead, eyes widening further in nervousness.

“Did I overstep?” the older boy asks, chewing on his lip.

Donghyuck shakes his head, a lazy, sleepy smile working its way onto his face.

Mark smiles gently at him, so purely fond. He leaves a second kiss on Donghyuck’s forehead, the softest press of lips, and whispers, “Goodnight, Donghyuck,” before scrambling out of the dorm, cheeks flushed red.

Donghyuck’s eyes start to close again, but suddenly his brain catches up to what the fuck just happened, and his eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god!”

Jaemin comes sprinting into the living room and manages to out yell Donghyuck, “Why are you screaming - oh my GOD!”

“What?” Donghyuck demands.

“Your ears,” Jaemin manages to stumble out.

Donghyuck reaches up to feel his ears and jumps out of his position on the couch as soon as he makes contact, booking it to the nearest sink. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He cups as much cold water as possible and slashes it all over his face, extinguishing the flames licking up the base of his ear and coating the tips. Water drips onto his shirt, soaking the material, and reminding Donghyuck that he’ll have to do laundry this week.

Jaemin is staring at him, flabbergasted. “Did Mark Lee just make your ears literally catch fire?”

Donghyuck’s sheepish expression must give him away. “Oh my fucking god!” Jaemin screams, dissolving into a heap of laughter.

Donghyuck can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation too.

 

_

 

A week or so later, and Jaemin’s incessant teasing is seemingly endless. Everywhere Donghyuck goes, it seems like Jaemin is always fucking there. Always. Fucking. There.

The only escape is the library on campus, which is thankfully open all day.

Donghyuck loves it.

Three floors of thousands of books, all easily accessible. High ceilings, stiffly carpeted floors, warm colors. Quiet, but not too quiet. There’s always soft lofi music playing faintly in the background. It’s enough for Donghyuck to not be fearful to take a sip of water, or even fucking swallow too loud.

Pure silence is a little too painful sometimes.

But the library is just the perfect amount of peace and quiet.

His phone dings.

 

_message received at 11:52 pm_

 

_na squared:_ hyuCkie,.,, r u h0me y3t ?? iM stAying w/ junnie &&&& noon

nono***** fUCck

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ inch resting & dw,,,, ++++ im heading home rn

 

_na squared:_ 0kay0kay b3 careFul bb <33333

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ hehehe,,,, u know i always am +++

 

_na squared:_ stfu ,, &&&& maEK sure to eat olay

make****** okay***** fUCK SACKS

SAKES**** 0H mY fuCKING G0D

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ FUDGE SAKES

jfc learn how to fkin type u dumb bitch +++++ also mwah sweatie hf w ur hoes

 

He doesn’t have time to read Jaemin’s response, as his peripherals are suddenly filled with black smoke.

A masked figure appears in front of him, and several hands are latching onto him, grip tight and unyielding despite his aggravated efforts. Fingers clasp around his trachea. A strangled gasp escapes his throat.

And then suddenly, he blinks, vision swimming as he is teleported to an unfamiliar location. Heaving, he once again struggles to break free of the Oni’s grasp, only managing to rid himself of the hand clasped around his trachea. His head’s pounding, blood pumping loudly in his ears. He can barely breathe, barely think. Nausea and panic are gripping him tightly, almost as tight as the Oni.

_Thinkthinkthink._

He feels half crazed, eyes wild and breathing ragged. He has no idea where he is, but unfortunately, he now knows how it feels to travel like an Oni. (He’d rather not repeat the experience.) And he has no idea how many of them there are. The building is too dark to tell.

A hand grips his chin roughly, yanking his gaze and his thoughts back to the present. Soulless depths peer back at him. Donghyuck sets his jaw and glares back.

He’s not dying on a fucking Tuesday. He isn’t Dean Winchester.

The panic temporarily settles, as rage courses through his veins. Along with fire, of course.

He feels the familiarity of his flames lick up and down his arms, swirl around his fingers. His fingers prickle slightly, nail beds itching. He almost gasps at the unfamiliar sensation.

_Well, this is new,_ his mind somehow manages to process among the spiraling chaos.

His flames burn brighter, and he pointedly ignores the igniting pain in his fingertips and the odd feeling in his nail beds. Light floods the room. _One, two, three, four, five,_ he counts quickly, trying to access the situation as best as possible.

Except he’s not exactly sure what the fuck he’s doing, usually one or two Oni attack him at a time. Not fucking five. Jesus Christ.

Flames explode from his skin, forcing the Oni’s grip to release. The five figures draw their swords simultaneously. Donghyuck sighs deeply.

The closest demon swings lowly, the sword grazing Donghyuck’s thigh before he can jump back completely. He hisses in pain, while avoiding the next demon’s blade.

_God, why must there be five fucking demons? I always told everyone that Tuesday was the worst day of the goddamn week._

Swing, dodge. Swing, graze. Stab, avoid. Over and over and over. Manages to snap one blade, two blades.

_Two down, three to go._

He loses sight of the third, but the other two attempt to attack both sides at once. Donghyuck is about done with this shit. Both blades swiftly slice through the air, almost too fast to catch. Except he does.

The sharp edges piercing his skin, and damn, it stings. Adrenaline and rage conceal a portion of the pain, as Donghyuck’s flames burn hotter. The blades begin to melt, just as the third Oni appears directly in front of him. He kicks out harshly, hands still attached to the swords, blood and molten metal mixing. The Oni disappears, evading the blow.

A moment later, a harsh kick to the back throws him off balance, almost tumbling to the floor but rolling to avoid breaking his fucking spine. The hit will bruise, nonetheless.

Gasping, he turns to see the three Oni looming over him, two distorted and fading in and out. He hadn’t quite finished melting their blades, and his hands are fucked.

The weapon is thrust at his head, and he rolls, narrowly missing it. Without thinking, he reaches for the handle, letting the flames engulf his hand entirely. He almost cries out at the aching pain of his fingertips.

Kicking both legs out in a desperate attempt to gain slight distance from the remaining two, he uprights himself, albeit shakily. Flames snake up and down his neck, curling around his arms, rather than hands.

He blocks the next strike, skin splitting as it is stuck multiple times. The fire coating his arms raises in temperature, and he grits out a, “Fuck you,” as the last tarnished blades crumble to ash, followed by the crumbling of the Oni.

Exhaustion almost topples him, hand reaching out to steady himself on the darkened, cracked wall. A cry of pain escapes his lips. His vision fades to black for a second. Unable to truly see the damage he’s induced on his body, he stumbles around mindlessly, painful hands searching endlessly for a door.

Seizing an obscure handle, he yanks with his borrowed strength. _Thanks adrenaline for, you know, keeping me up right currently._

The cold, night air almost chokes him, relief filling up every crevice of his body, every corner of his fucking soul. His surroundings are surprisingly familiar; he’s on the corner of campus, in the shutdown lab. A few too many chemistry experiments gone wrong, and the building had to be closed, said to be temporary.

With a start, he realizes his dorm is only about a five minute walk, and miraculously, his phone is still functioning, despite the ridiculous large crack covering the entire screen. He may not die after all. Wow.

His hands are shaking so horribly, from pain and lingering panic, that he can barely read the time. _2:09 am. Damn._ Did he black out? His brain aches with the effort to remember. He quickly gives up, deciding on focusing on putting one agonizing step in front of the other. Pain flashes across his eyes with every movement.

He determinedly trudges along.

 

_

 

Honestly, he doesn’t know how he made it back to the dorm, much less was able to unlock the door. Granted, he did drop his keys multiple times, hands shaking to the point where holding anything was near impossible. Lips raw from being chewed on to prevent small, sharp sounds of pain, the door unlocks. He almost thanks it.

He nearly topples over trying to get inside, legs threatening to give out on him. The couch is very, very welcoming. Donghyuck is unsure that he’ll ever move. He’s also thankful that Jaemin is out with Renjun and Jeno because he is fully aware of how pathetic he currently looks.

He knows his clothes are shredded and singed. He’s honestly surprised he was able to subconsciously protect his clothes. The thought almost makes him laugh.

The cuts on his arms and legs sting, skin slowly trying to stitch itself back together. He is about ninety five percent sure that he has a black eye, plus he can feel several bruises on his jaw and, of course, neck. The memory of the Oni’s hands around his throat causes a shiver to viciously sprint down his spine. He’d rather not be strangled again, not a very pleasant experience.

The worst part, of course, are his hands. Dozens of white blisters adorn his honey skin, the area raised and disgusting. His fingertips are scorched. The smell of burnt flesh lingers in the nearby air, causing bile to rise in his throat. He barely manages to choke it down, instead trying to focus on 1) staying conscious and 2) watching new skin painstakingly wrap itself around his fingertips.

The bathroom door unexpectedly creaks open. Donghyuck stiffens, entire body tensing.

_Play possum, right fucking now Donghyuck._

“Hyuck?” a low voice breaks the quiet of the apartment. Donghyuck stays utterly still, staying completely silent save for his labored breathing. He desperately wishes he could conceal it.

Gentle footsteps approach the cream-colored couch. Donghyuck curls into himself, not wanting to be seen but knowing the inevitability.

“Donghyuck.” His tone is so, so soft, but Donghyuck can’t bring himself to look up. He doesn’t want Mark to see him like this. He wants the Earth to momentarily split open and let him fall through the seams.

Mark’s weight settles next to him. He feels his breathing start to speed up.

_Stopstopstop._

He can’t breathe. His lungs are, metaphorically, on fire, and he wishes that he could just burn completely, become nothing but ash. Restrictive gasps escape his lips, pitifully attempting to gain any air. His limbs feel like lead. His heart is pounding against his sternum, threatening to rip itself out of his chest. His vision swims for what seems like the millionth time tonight, and he wheezes, a sickly ripping noise tearing from his dry throat.

He rushes to the bathroom, barely managing to make it the toilet before vomiting, more water and saliva than anything else. Donghyuck can’t remember when he last ate.

He falls back, leaning against the scratchy bathroom wall. He clenches his eyes shut, tears threatening to leak from the corners. He won’t let them.

Distantly, he hears Mark calling for him, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“Donghyuck, Donghyuck. Count. Count, Donghyuck,” Mark’s calm voice manages to reach his ears. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He doesn’t know anything. He tightly grasps onto Mark’s words. He opens his mouth to speak but only a pant breaks free. 

A cautious touch to his shoulder. “Donghyuck, try again.” Mark’s tone is so, so even. His calmness is the only semblance of momentary relief.

“One,” Donghyuck manages to stutter, voice raspy and wrecked. He begins steadily counting, albeit shaky. “Two.” Inhale. “Three.” Exhale.

Minutes pass, and the dorm is silent, Donghyuck’s mellow words seeming to absorb into the neutral walls, swallowing up the sound.

Hands quivering, he reaches out and hesitantly tugs Mark into a meek hug. At Mark’s muffled sound of surprise, his lips tug into a small smile.

For once, Donghyuck isn’t afraid. The familiar thrum of fire running through his veins, feels strangely dormant. It’s a pleasant, yet empty sensation. Donghyuck isn’t sure what to make of it.

 

_

 

Mark eventually convinces Donghyuck to shower, saying he’ll prepare some leftovers. They both ignore the time.

The water temperature is absolutely freezing. Donghyuck finally smiles as it hits his skin.

He slops on an old hoodie of Johnny’s and a pair of paint-stained sweatpants (Thanks, Renjun). He decides to trash his tattered clothes, soiled and nearly charred. The mundaneness of home starts to seep back into his soul, dripping neutrality and the slightest amount of content.

Donghyuck actually feels safe. He smiles softly at the thought.

Heading towards the kitchen, he sees Mark hovering over two plates, hands wafting away steam. Donghyuck raises an eyebrow at Mark’s sheepish expression.

“I may have over-microwaved them a bit,” Mark admits, rubbing the back of his neck. Usually, Donghyuck would find it adorable, but his emotions are a bit exhausted for today.

He nods mutely, in response. The two eat in silence, low music playing from Donghyuck’s phone. He’s not too keen on having suffocating silence again.

He feels his eyes start to droop, as Mark gathers their dishes and sets them in the dishwasher. The older boy, of course, notices and ushers Donghyuck to get ready for bed.

Donghyuck reemerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, softly padding over to where Mark is still standing in the kitchen. He tugs on the older boy’s sleeve, mumbling, “Please stay.”

Mark seems to understand.

They lay facing each other, in Donghyuck’s cramped twin bed, yet somehow, they aren’t touching. Mark is simply gazing fondly at him, but Donghyuck feels oddly vulnerable.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” Mark quietly confirms. Donghyuck knows, he voices this, equally as quiet.

Mark’s hand raises, fingertips poised above Donghyuck’s cheekbones. “Can I?” Donghyuck nods. Smooth, cool fingertips glide across his skin of his face, a barely-there touch. Donghyuck’s eyes stay glued to Mark’s, as do Mark’s to his.

“Your eyes are molten gold,” the dark haired boy observes, awe coating his expression.

The frequent rush of panic doesn’t crawl up his spine, surprising Donghyuck. Something about the openness of Mark’s expression calms him, sends a comfortable warmth through his body.

He accepts the simple warmth, treasures the feeling of warmth rather than constant overwhelming heat or immaculate cold that frequently nestles in his chest. He appreciates the subdued flames.

He presses his forehead to Mark’s chest and allows sleep to wash over him.

 

_

 

Donghyuck is rudely awoken by the sun shining directly in his fucking face, making his first thought of the day a whiny, _why?_

He peels his sleep-crusted eyes open, reaching to rub at them before noticing the throb of his hands. On second thought, maybe not.

His gaze lands on Mark who is still laying across from him.

_He didn’t leave._ Donghyuck smiles softly at the obvious observation, sitting up to get the goddamn sun out of his eyes.

A light snore escapes Mark’s sleep-parted lips, and Donghyuck giggles quietly before immediately cringing at himself for fucking giggling. (“Disgustingly whipped,” he hears Jaemin’s voice yell in his head. He finds himself nodding in agreement to imaginary Na.)

The sun’s rays are narrowly missing Mark, instead splayed across the pillow and where Donghyuck was, previously, sleeping. (He’s not salty or anything, don’t worry.)

Mark, decidedly, does not look like an angel when sleeping. He doesn’t embody perfection as soon as his eyes close, and there are no angels singing opera or some shit.

Mark just looks younger. The worry lines that usually crease his smile and forehead are absent, skin delicate and smooth. Small, pink lips parted, even breaths exhaling. Long eyelashes atop pale, sharp cheekbones. A cluster or two of acne scars, along his jaw and cheek. Brows no longer furrowed, nose not crinkled in laughter. Body curled like a roly-poly.

Donghyuck hates mornings, but he loves Mark. And he loves Mark in the morning too. Maybe mornings aren’t so bad. (Unless the sun decides to spit in his eyes again, fuck sakes.)

Mark’s eyes don’t flutter open like fucking Sleeping Beauty. They squint, not prepared for the light streaming in the window and gradually peep open, immediately taking in Donghyuck’s bright smile. Mark’s petite mouth curves into a slow smile as well. He drowsily groans, obviously not ready to function, which Donghyuck relates to on a spiritual level.

“What time is it?” the older boy half-mumbles, half-rasps. Donghyuck suppresses a shiver at the unfamiliar tone. Morning Mark is a new Mark to Donghyuck. Donghyuck plummets once more. (“FUCKING WHIPPED!” internal Jaemin screams.)

“Dunno,” Donghyuck whispers back breathily. He doesn’t want to know. He wants to stay in this bubble, with Mark, where time doesn’t exist and neither does the persistent pain echoing throughout his entire body. (He’s gotten used to ignoring it.)

Apparently, the answer is good enough for Mark, who simply nods and curls himself closer to the tanned boy, but still not touching. The black haired boy’s eyes remain firmly on his, unflinching.

Donghyuck aches to reach out and run his, unfortunately, blistered fingertips along Mark’s pale skin, carefully trace over each feature. He aches to hold Mark’s hand, to press his lips to the other boy’s smile. He aches to tell Mark the truth. His body aches with his overwhelming, non-platonic love for his best friend.

And from, you know, the pain from the cuts that he didn’t manage to dodge last night, and that did not completely heal last night, they uncomfortably ache too.

Donghyuck drops his gaze, becoming acutely aware of his fresh cuts and the purple bruises on his neck. He can vividly remember the feeling of the Oni’s hands clasped tightly around his throat. He winces at the memory, scarred hand automatically coming up to brush across the bruised skin. He ignores the flare of pain in his fingertips. He knows they’re fucked anyways, would rather not look.

Mark extends an arm, hand hovering over Donghyuck’s other hand. So, so close. Their eyes meet, and Donghyuck nods, hesitant. He doesn’t feel the flames crawling just under his skin, for once.

Mark notices. He always does. He cautiously lays his fingers over Donghyuck’s damaged ones, searching Donghyuck’s face carefully for any sign of discomfort or pain.

It does hurt, slightly. Donghyuck can’t find it within himself to care. Not when Mark Lee is looking at him like that, like he’s something fascinating and treasurable. Like he’s meaningful, like every thing about him matters.

And again, Donghyuck’s brain reminds him, _Hey dumbass! This doesn’t seem very fucking platonic. Surely, you aren’t completely fucking stupid._

But Donghyuck and hope aren’t friends. He’d rather stay like this, stay content with his friendship with Mark than risk it. Mark is too valuable to him, even just platonically.

And that’s okay.

_I’ll just quietly sit over here and suffer in my usual I’m in love with Mark fucking Lee fashion. Don’t mind me, normal day, normal day._

Attempting to stand, he gasps, pain shooting down his spine, almost knocking him off balance with the unexpected severity. Fuck, he forgot about the abuse to his poor fucking spine.

Immediately, Mark is standing, any remnants of sleep forgotten, stabling him and frantically asking what’s wrong. Donghyuck manages to stutter out a mangled, “Spine.”

Mark gently coaxes him back to the bed, hands seemingly fleeting as soon as they arrived.

“Can I,” Mark starts, clearing his throat before continuing, “Can I see?”

Donghyuck feels his breathing both quicken in pace and begin to lose stability.

The other boy’s eyes widen, hands finicking and intertwining rapidly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Yes,” Donghyuck blurts, eyes nearly bursting out of their sockets due to his own choice of words.

_What the fuck._

Mark looks just as surprised, if not a bit scared.

“Yes,” Donghyuck breathes out shakily, trying desperately to calm his nerves, “you can see.” He lightly presses each finger to his thumb, counting _onetwothreefour_ over and over. Light enough for the touch to not be rough against the tender skin of his fingertips.

“Are you sure?” Mark’s eyes lock on Donghyuck’s fingers, noting the nervousness in the younger boy.

Donghyuck exhales audibly, heart thumping in his ears. “Yes, I’m sure. Hurry up before I change my fucking mind.” Mark laughs airily.

That is one thing Donghyuck will never understand. How does Mark do it? How does he laugh at everything, smile at everything? How is it so easy for him to constantly shine so brightly?

Donghyuck thinks there is not enough time in the day to be happy. But after watching Mark Lee, maybe the rule only applies to himself.

Cool hands skate across the hem of his ragged, overly-used hoodie. He takes a deep breath, numbers still firmly echoing in his brain.

Mark slowly pushes the hoodie up the tanned boy’s back, the fabric bunching heavily at his shoulders. His movements are measured, fully prepared to drop the hoodie immediately at Donghyuck’s request. Donghyuck makes no such request, to his own surprise and to Mark’s.

“Oh, Hyuck,” whispers Mark sadly, warm breath fanning against the exposed skin of the younger boy’s back. His entire body shivers, and he knows there is no way Mark didn’t notice. He feels his cheeks heat, silently prays they don’t literally catch flame.

Cold fingertips press to his back, causing his muscles to tense anxiously. Mark lightly rubs the taut muscles, relaxing them under his delicate touch. He traces Donghyuck’s spine gingerly, avoiding the prominent bruises.

“I won’t ask.” Donghyuck knows he won’t, knows Mark is too respectful to question Donghyuck again. Knows Mark will be there when he is ready to open up. “But please, please be careful.” The words are rushed, raw emotion clawing at the ends.

The hoodie is pushed back down. Mark rests his forehead against Donghyuck’s clothed shoulder.

They stay like that for a while.

 

_

 

Donghyuck is unsure how much has time passed when a sweaty, clearly post-dance practice Jaemin bursts through his door, causing the door to loudly creak in protest. Donghyuck grimaces, saddened that a sweat-encrusted Jaemin has decided to enter his room and destroy any semblance of cleanliness (and peace).

Donghyuck feels Mark shift behind him, ultimately deciding to prop his chin on the younger boy’s shoulder.

“Lee Donghyuck, Yerim already fucking told me that you weren’t in class today. You better have a good fucking explanation, bitch,” Jaemin blabs, hands resting on his hips dramatically.

Jaemin chokes on his spit, eyes flying wide as he takes in the scene in front of him. The corners of Donghyuck’s mouth turn upwards, amusement written all over his expression. Nervousness lingers just beneath.

“You,” - a poorly concealed laugh in the form of a cough - “you skipped too, Mark Lee? Who are you, and what have you done to our Morkus?” Jaemin’s brows are raised high, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Mark nods from his apparently comfortable spot on Donghyuck’s shoulder, his chin digging slightly uncomfortably into Donghyuck’s collarbone.

_God, he’s so fucking close._

Donghyuck tries to calm his heartbeat. He fails. He notices that he is, surprisingly, not anxious. He’s nervous, yes, but it’s not the overwhelming anxiety he is accustomed to. He can actually breathe.

_Kudos to being a normal fucking “human” for once. Or kitsune. Whatever._

“Mental health day,” Mark adds, trying to sound light-hearted.

Donghyuck raises his hands and cracks a crooked, self-deprecating grin. “Physical health day.”

Jaemin’s eyes harden. “I told you to be careful.”

Donghyuck rolls his amber eyes. “I know, mom.”

“Mark Lee, you better take care of this dumb bitch,” Jaemin nags, halfway out the door.

From the hallway, a yell prevails, “Oh, and get outta bed. It’s literally fucking one in the afternoon.”

So much for liking mornings.

 

_

 

The next two weeks are shockingly normal.

Lectures. Study. Coffee. Sleep? Run. Eat (at Jaemin’s insufferable insistence). Repeat.

Donghyuck will forever stand by his proclamation that the best part of the day is when the sun has tucked itself away and the stars shine brightly, a natural quiet settling over campus. It’s never too quiet, always just the right amount. The lack of weight on his chest is floundering with relief.

Around three am is his favorite time, when he can sneak off to the track on campus, climbing the fence with ease. Run until his legs throb, until even his ears hurt from his too loud music in combination with his AirPods.

Tonight, Donghyuck blasts MLee99’s familiar playlist, focusing on the intense raps of Mark and his brother, Taeyong, in favor of ignoring the growing sting of his calves.

The bite of the cold air nips at his skin, but doesn’t really bother him. Recognizing cold and physically feeling it are majorly different. Cold on the inside is odd too.

He runs for hours. The night air wisps through his bangs, tangling his hair messily. He laughs openly, dazed by the odd serenity of night and then immediately regrets the loss of air - running and laughing do not go together, that’s for fucking sure.

His music cuts off suddenly, phone signaling the arrival of a new text. At five in the morning, wonderful.

 

_message received at 5:09 am_

 

_sung the lil shit:_ hyung are you awake yet

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ ‘yet’ bitch its litrlly 5 tf u want

 

_sung the lil shit:_ how eloquent.

i just wanted to check on you oka .? ?

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ aw sungie youre gettin soft on me uwu

i swEar if this is jst a ploy to gush abt chenle ,,,,, ++++++ i will throttle u

 

_sung the lil shit:_ shuT, it’s not.

uh you dont call much anymore — ishgihreuds jeju gets boring oka

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ imissyou2 bb jisung

 

_sung the lil shit:_ ew, go away. and i’m not a baby, god.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ bitch dont ew me,,, how could one gaze upon this face &&& think ew,,,,,, bitch + ithnk the fucK nOT

 

_sung the lil shit:_ mark certainly doesn’t — hehehe

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ catch me buyin a plane tkt to jeju to beat ur dumbass. <33333

 

_sung the lil shit:_ (; you know i’m right

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ ik + that u outta shut ur fkn mouth ,,,,, right fuckin now

 

_sung the lil shit:_ love you too, hyung. i gotta go — but make sure to call more often ? some of us occasionally (key word: occasionally) care about you. okay ?

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ yea yea,, bye sungie mwah

 

He reads over Jisung’s text again and smiles to himself. Maybe his little brother is less of a lil shit and more of a lil softie.

 

_sung the lil shit:_ fuck off.

 

Nope, he’s still a little shit. Another text flashes on screen.

 

_message received at 5:16 am_

 

_morkus leeus:_ Hey Hyuck. You probably rn’t awake yet but our big game is sat ? and U should definitely come for moral support pelase.

please**

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ yea yea markutio ,,,, ++ ill be there le sigh

 

_morkus leeus:_ (: Good. and I hate Shakespeare uknowthis

Wait. uh Why are u awake ?

 

His mind hopelessly fumbles for a logical response.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ dunno,,,, just woke up ig ++ love being a classic college student w a fkd up sleepschedule amiright.

also y must u be like jisungie && do smileys backwards. it’s :) bitch +++ not whatever the fuck (: is ,,,,, goodgod

 

_morkus leeus:_ Okay, valid. Make sure youre sleeping well )))): and fuck you

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ ik, ik. &&& wow i feel loved mwah

 

_morkus leeus:_ Shut up, you know you are.

Oh, BTW Renjun wants us to finish Stranger Things on Friday. You wanna go ?

 

Not ‘are you gonna go’. Not an obligation, but a genuine question. Donghyuck knows, can see the underlying meaning of ‘you don’t have to go if you don’t want but I’d like it if you did’.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ i will forever cringe at how u fuckin use caps for slang igusidnisgdmiopg +++ but sure sure,,,, where ??

 

_morkus leeus:_ Language. and I guess here ? We all know how renjun literally neevr offers his dorm to anyone but Jeno&Jaem. HA

never**

We stan typing.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ snort. just txt me the details of fri & sat olay,,,

 

_morkus leeus:_ Okay (((((: See you soon, Hyuck . Be there or Be square

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ uh-huh ,,, talk to ur dumbass l8r mork

 

He choses to ignore the whole ‘dormant Oni’ problem for now. He’ll procrastinate caring about the demons that love to follow him around and attempt to fucking murder him, until they decide to try it again.

_Great strategy, Donghyuck. Please gain some braincells._

He shrugs tiredly, unpausing his music. He runs and runs, until the sun starts to creep over the horizon, and the birds decide to chirp so fucking loud that he can hear them over his music.

_Fucking hell, it’s time to go back inside._

 

___

 

He knocks on the door thrice, hand surprisingly undamaged for once. He can’t remember the last time he knocked without wincing.

There is no immediate answer, and for a second, Donghyuck internally battles knocking again versus impatiently waiting. He’d rather not seem overbearing. His shoulders tense slightly, but before his mind entangles him, the door swings open, revealing a smiley Jeno.

Donghyuck gives a small smile in return, ducking his head as he enters the familiar dorm.

No matter how many times he’s been to Mark and Jeno’s dorm, he always feels slightly uneasy. He knows everything about his own dorm: where everything is, who’s been there, etcetera, but Mark and Jeno’s dorm is, well, Mark and Jeno’s dorm.

_It’s not my domain,_ he dramatically thinks, _it’s my range._ A disappointed frown imperceptibly tugs at his lips. _Donghyuck, even for you, that was a terrible fucking joke._

A hand waves in front of his face. “Earth to Hyuck.”

He glances up, an automatic ‘hmm’ leaving his throat. Mark’s warm eyes stare directly back into his, closer than he anticipated. Donghyuck flinches back, tearing his gaze from Mark because he knows.

He knows Mark would be gazing at him sadly, disappointed that Donghyuck has once again reverted to his fear of touch.

And Donghyuck wishes it was different.

He wishes he couldn’t feel the burn of unlit fire coursing through his veins again, ready to burst from his skin at any moment. He wishes he wasn’t afraid. He wishes he was more in control.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, small.

Before Mark can respond, the door swings open, hinges protesting, and in barge Renjun and Jaemin.

“Why hello there, bitches,” Renjun says loudly, grinning. Jaemin raises a peace sign from behind the smaller boy, a similar expression alighting the pink-haired boy’s features.

Donghyuck glances at Jeno, promptly ignoring Mark’s prying eyes. The crescent-eyed boy gazes at the two lovingly, eyes affectionately curved into half-moons. The sight simultaneously fills Donghyuck with happiness for his friends and nausea for how sickeningly in love they are.

As if he isn’t, unrequitedly, the same way.

Ambling over to the rugged couch, Donghyuck ungracefully catapults himself onto it, successfully claiming a majority of it.

Or so he thought, Jaemin immediately threatens to push him off, but the threat is utterly empty. Jaemin knows Donghyuck’s apprehension towards touch.

(“Which is slightly justified, but you could totally learn to grow past it. I could help, you know,” Jaemin had told him, years back.

Donghyuck had stared blankly, uncomprehending of such stupidity.

“Stop looking at me like that, bitch.”

Donghyuck only sighed, deeply. “My body’ll just overheat, and I’ll fry you. No one wants a tater tot of you.” He shuddered at the thought, “That’s fucking disgusting.”

Jaemin never brought up the topic again.)

Donghyuck moves anyways, claiming it is from the pure and immensely genuine kindness in his heart.

“Bitch, what heart?” Renjun inquires, smacking on popcorn Jeno had microwaved while expertly opening Netflix and preparing the first episode of Stranger Things season two. Donghyuck is tempted to reach over and combust it. Bakugo style.

(He has actually done so once. He and Jaemin decided to test their theory of ‘can Donghyuck’s weird ass kitsune powers help us cook?’, and therefore sat a bag of popcorn on his quickly temperature-increasing hands.

The result was an exploding bag of butter and the lingering smell of burnt popcorn for a week.

They did, however, learn that, with practice, Donghyuck is an excellent substitute for a microwave. Jaemin frequently asks the tan boy to warm up his coffee because “Hyuckie, the kitchen is so fucking far away!”

“Nana, you can literally turn around and take two steps. And voila, you’re in the fucking kitchen,” Donghyuck uselessly retorts back, already taking the cup from the younger boy’s hand to warm up the coffee.)

“Shut it,” Mark replies easily, “we’re all pretty sure Hyuck has a heart buried somewhere.”

Jeno nods enthusiastically, eagerly playing along. “I once heard it was hidden in Lego Atlantis.” Donghyuck discreetly cringes. Jaemin laughs politely.

“I heard a piece of the sun is with it. That right, Full Sun?” Renjun playfully cocks a brow, smoothly soothing Jeno’s lack of humor.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, nodding slightly. The attention is manageable, but a shift would be preferable.

Jaemin notices. “Pretty sure a butter knife’s stuck in it.” They all stare blankly at him.

The youngest boy shrugs. “Maddy stabbed him, remember?”

They all continue to stare at him, completely and utterly lost.

“Fourth wall, who? Bitch, I don’t know her,” he adds, scratching his nape awkwardly.

Renjun aborts the topic real fucking fast. “Alright, dumbasses. Let’s continue to take Donghyuck’s Stranger Things virginity.”

“Uh, but he’s already seen the first season?” Mark tentatively questions, eyes narrowing. His gaze flits over to Donghyuck, who is individually popping each knuckle.

“Okay, I thought you would have learned by now, but turns out you really are an idiot, Mark Lee-”

“Be respectful, I’m older than you-” Mark interrupts, tone clearly annoyed.

Renjun ignores him. “Rule one of being blessed with my presence is don’t question my possibly dumbassery.”

Mark rolls his eyes, exasperated. Donghyuck snorts.

Waving a hand around absently, Donghyuck muses, “Can we please start the fucking show now?”

The petite boy huffs, but complies, unpausing the show.

Instead of focusing on the first few minutes of the show (and reveling in the wonderful theme song), Donghyuck looks at each of his friends adoringly and quickly looks down, after accidentally - and unsurprisingly - catching Mark’s eye.

His friends can be annoying as fuck, but he has no idea what’d he do without each of them. Even Renjun.

He smiles, then. An easy, private smile.

 

Everyone, except Donghyuck, ends up drifting off to sleep as the final episode of season two ends.

Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun are closely curled up together, limbs entangled. He swears he sees their hands interlocked.

Mark is draped over the side of the loveseat, mouth hanging open dumbly. Donghyuck smiles fondly at him.

He slowly stands, careful to not stir anyone from their sleep.

Retrieving his keys and AirPods, he stealthily slips from the dorm and heads to the abandoned track.

It’s about two am, but Donghyuck pays no mind, slipping in his AirPods and playing 3racha’s new mixtape while beginning to stretch.

His dumbass used to never stretch before running, but after pulling a calf muscle and learning that his healing generally doesn’t apply to soreness and stupidity, he changed his routine.

The stars are bright, nearby street lamps dim in comparison. The moon is waning, yet beautiful and mysterious nonetheless.

Low chirping of insects and the steady hum of the street lamps fill the silence, but are drowned out once CB97’s voice fills his enhanced ears.

He starts off leisurely jogging, choosing to let his mind and body run free.

His pace picks up gradually, until he finds himself with his hands on his knees, panting heavily. The loud sounds of his breathing ring louder than his music, and he, for once, enjoys the exertion.

He likes to push himself, but hates being forced to. Meaning he hates how he has no choice but to push his limits to beat the Oni. He won’t lie. He’s definitely thought about letting them have at him, but objectively, he knows that dying would affect too many people he loves.

That doesn’t stop the thoughts, though.

He also hated being forced to participate in P.E in high school. That shit was the worse.

 

_

 

Donghyuck won’t lie. He’s slightly nervous.

Granted, he’s in a constant state of nervousness, or rather, the bitch knows as anxiety.

This, however, is different.

Until about two hours ago, Donghyuck didn’t realize that Mark only invited him to the big game.

Here’s why this is groundbreaking for Donghyuck:

Mark usually doesn’t invite anyone to his hockey games, choosing to treat them nonchalantly. The older boy has never liked to make a fuss, especially about himself. Donghyuck knows, and he also knows that Mark does appreciate his gentle, subtle support.

(Mark appreciates all the pieces Donghyuck gives to him.)

That’s why Donghyuck has never missed a single one of Mark’s games, even that one time when he had a twenty page paper, that he had barely started, due at midnight. It’s an unspoken rule.

Anyways, this time is different because Mark had actually asked him. Not asked their friends or literally anyone else. Only him.

Donghyuck is freaking the fuck out. And miserably lying on the floor like a fucking starfish, hopelessly aching for the ground to swallow him whole.

Realistically, he knows the invitation probably only means that Mark is nervous for the big game and wants to ensure he has Donghyuck’s quiet but sure support. The conclusion, unfortunately, does nothing to calm Donghyuck.

“Hyuckie, what the fuck are you doing on the floor?” Jaemin squawks. ( _Yes, squawks. He’s so fucking loud, I swear.)_

Donghyuck groans in response.

Jaemin stomps his feet, and the other boy sits up slightly, sight focusing on a Nana with her hands on her hips. Goddamn. (Donghyuck internally laughs at himself before remembering his first world misery.)

He rolls on his stomach, burying his face into his black, fuzzy carpet and mumbles out a, “Mark invited me to the game.”

“Huh?” replies Jaemin dumbly.

Donghyuck sighs, repeating himself slightly louder.

“Doesn’t he always?” Jaemin asks innocently, clearly not understanding Donghyuck’s dilemma. He feels so misunderstood, wiping a fake tear away.

“Well, sorta,” he mutters, flipping on his back, “but not like, verbally or anything.” He readjusts, pissed that is shirt twisted in the back.

Jaemin stares at him like he’s grown another fucking head. “‘Verbally or anything,’” he mocks, finger quotes in sync with each syllable.

“You fucking know what I mean,” Donghyuck snaps, covering his face with his hands.

Hands raising in neutrality, Jaemin cosplays Switzerland and gingerly takes a seat beside Starfish Hyuck.

“Baby, calm down,” Jaemin’s voice rings in his ears, softly. “It’s just Mark. You’ve done this a hundred times. Don’t overthink right now, just be there to support him. Like you always are, Hyuckie.”

“Yeah, let me just turn my brain off for a sec. I’m a fucking pro at that,” Donghyuck mutters sarcastically from behind his hands.

A puff of breathy laughter, Jaemin is a certified expert of understanding a muffled Donghyuck. “Okay, okay valid. Just think about what you do know.”

Donghyuck looks up at that, eyes curiously wide. “Like what?”

“What are the constants?”

Donghyuck pops his knuckles before tapping each finger to his thumb. Counting. _Onetwothreefour._

Jaemin takes quick notice. And adds, a bit firmer, “Donghyuck, what are the constants?”

The tanned boy inhales, the noise slightly shaky and unbalanced. “The back row is always empty.”

The pink-haired boy makes a gesture for him to continue, expression patient andkind. Donghyuck is eternally grateful for Jaemin and his open expressions.

“And Jungwoo is always three rows down, excitedly supporting Xuxi. He’ll silently smile at me,” he pauses, collecting his thoughts while still mindlessly pressing the pad of his fingertips to his thumb. “The lights in the back are always off before and during games, but come on during intermission. Mark always looks for me then.” Jaemin nods encouragingly. “We always go out to Kun’s Kitchen afterwards, and Doyoung always gives us a discount, even though he refuses to admit it. Mark never lets me pay.”

“That’s probably not going to change just because Mark confirmed your presence at his big game,” Jaemin helpfully supplies.

Donghyuck finds himself agreeing, a mute nod of the head before he’s even aware of his own movement.

“Now go get ready, bitch,” the younger boy kicks at him, urging him off the floor, “you need to leave soon.”

 

_

 

Jaemin was right. The rink looks as it always does, the world is in-fact not ending, and Jungwoo is contentedly sitting on the bleachers. He smiles sweetly at Donghyuck, just as always.

Making his way to the dark corner of the bleachers, Donghyuck takes his usual seat and begins to absently observe.

Since hockey isn’t the university’s main sport, not too many people attend the games. The crowd tonight is decent, though, proving to Donghyuck that the game is rather important. As if he didn’t already believe Mark. As if he would ever not believe Mark.

The game begins shortly, and Donghyuck slips his AirPods in, playing Michael Jackson partly as background music and partly to clear his mind.

Despite Donghyuck attending countless games for the past few years, he doesn’t entirely understand the sport. He gets the gist of it, and he’s tried to fully understand, even had Mark explain it to him in-depth. He always manages to forget a rule or zone out and miss an important play.

It doesn’t matter much. He’s moral support, not athletic support.

He does, however, understand that this match is fiercely competitive, can tell by how Mark’s expression is almost imperceptibly pinched, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed.

He pays slightly more attention than usual (which isn’t much) purely because of the competition. He knows Mark will give him a play by play of all the important moments later, anyways.

The beginning chords of Smooth Criminal filter through his AirPods and just as Donghyuck starts to sway simply to the music, two players collides with Mark, on either side. They’re least double Mark’s size.

A sickening crunch reverberates through Donghyuck’s perceptive ears. Even before the other players rush to their feet, concernedly rubbing their respective sides, Donghyuck knows. He knows he just saw and, unfortunately, vividly heard Mark’s ribs break.

The entire rink goes quiet. Donghyuck is on his feet immediately, song utterly forgotten.

Mark hasn’t moved.

Feet carrying him instantly over to where the players enter, Donghyuck is on the ice before anyone can stop him.

He can’t think, body running purely on instinct. He distantly feels panic and unadulterated fear claw at him. He ignores it, focuses on Mark instead.

A referee opens his mouth to snap at Donghyuck but is silenced from one look. Donghyuck can feel the glow of his eyes, radiating heat.

_I will not catch flame. I will not burn Mark. I will not._

He kneels beside Mark, whose eyes are squeezed shut. “Mark, it’s me,” he whispers. Dimly, he hears the coach call for an ambulance.

Mark groans in pain or acknowledgement, Donghyuck isn’t sure. In a low voice, he begins to sing soothingly, carefully curling himself around Mark. Covering him from prying eyes, condensing them into their own private bubble.

He pretends they are the only ones in the rink. Pretends they are sixteen again, curled on the roof of Mark’s home, where Donghyuck sung to the Mark for the first time. Pretends the stars are above them, glittering and glistening. Pretends they are untouchable.

Donghyuck doesn’t know how much time passes, but in that time, he is free from fear, maintaining composure for Mark.

_You have to._

And he does.

 

Until the ambulance arrives and one of the paramedics, a short brunette woman with a ponytail that Donghyuck desperately wants to pull, tries to separate him from Mark. Donghyuck about burns a bitch.

“No, no. Please, let Donghyuckie come too,” Mark mumbles, drearily, pain meds already beginning to seep into his system.

The paramedics reluctantly agree, probably due to Mark’s request and Donghyuck’s piercing, golden glare. He can feel his eyes glowing, can feel his power right underneath his skin like an itch.

In a quiet voice, the woman informs him that Mark definitely broke a few ribs, but otherwise seems okay.

Donghyuck feels himself properly breathe for the first time in God knows how fucking long. He thanks her, voice hushed to avoid waking Mark.

The older boy is breathing evenly, lips parted in sleep. Donghyuck gingerly runs his hands through Mark’s dark hair, carefully untangling the strands while admiring the softness of the tuffs between his crooked fingers.

Donghyuck wishes he could sleep as peacefully.

 

___

 

“Shut the fuck up. I’m going with you,” Donghyuck snaps, final. Mark rubs his temples, tired of the same argument.

And Donghyuck agrees, it’s getting repetitive. Especially after six fucking weeks.

School has been complete and utter hell. Donghyuck nearly died due to finals.

Thankfully, winter break has just begun, and Mark’s final doctor’s appointment has finally approached.

Nevertheless, Donghyuck absolutely insists on attending each and every single one of Mark’s checkups. It is an argument he always wins, although he can’t exactly explain the why to Mark.

Mark has asked him, on multiple occasions. Donghyuck managed to scourge up some bullshit excuse about being his best friend and wanting to make sure his dumbass didn’t zone out while the doctor was talking or something.

Donghyuck can’t exactly say, _well, I heard your ribs snap, and the noise loves to frequently play in my sleep and keep me awake. And I’m nauseatingly worried about your idiotic self._

He’ll stick with his bullshit excuses.

Or hopefully not because this is the final checkup to ensure everything healed properly.

The doctor is babbling along, the usual questions that Donghyuck stopped paying attention to a few weeks ago, when a dark flash rummages through his peripherals. His jaw tightens, and he manages to grumble a polite excuse, slipping from the room.

He follows the trail of wispy black smoke down a seemingly forgotten corridor, rooms completely unoccupied, hall silent save for his light footsteps echoing irritatingly off the bland, white walls.

He concentrates on keeping his breathing steady as he pushes open the last door on the right, eyes immediately skirting around, counting. _One, two, three, four, five._ He also mindfully notes the covered window. They are smarter than he thought.

It’s been eight fucking weeks with absolutely no sign. And now, at the fucking hospital, five Oni have decided to swarm him.

_How fucking wonderful._

Flames dance under his skin, eager to finally show themselves. He strips himself of his hoodie, prepares a mute eulogy for his new white t-shirt, and lets the fire nipping at the inside of his skin burn.

It’s greets him, blissful.

The flames lick up and down his skin, excited. They swirl around the lengths of his arms, around his crooked fingers, cautiously avoiding his fingertips.

The air sparks, and embers dance around him playfully.

He grins, expression slightly distorted. _It’s almost good to be back._

He lets the flames seep into his mind, lets instinct take over as he swings first, fire alighting the ends of his fingers.

His nails extend and warp, curving grotesquely into claws.

_That’s certainly new,_ he internally laughs. His grin turns slightly animalistic.

The swing leaves a searing set of claw marks across the Oni’s body, who screeches in pain and stumbles back. Donghyuck reacts quickly, using his other hand to grasp the Oni’s sword and immediately melt it.

The other four demons surround him, but oddly enough, Donghyuck feels serene. He knows he’s never let his flames get this hot, but he’s also never felt so in control yet so out of control. The feeling is peculiarly freeing.

_Instinct is much simpler than thinking,_ decides Donghyuck.

He hears the slice of the air as the demons behind him begin to swing, sees the two in front approach him as well. He shrugs, slides forward and to the left, narrowly avoiding the Oni’s behind attacks.

He is directly in front of another one of the demons, and in a split second, his hand has snatched the blackened sword, kicking hard at the demon while simultaneously using his knee to snap the blade.

Spinning around, he backs up to the hospital wall, successfully cornering himself. The three other Oni stare lifelessly at him as he beckons them forward with a challenging wave of his burning hand.

Adrenaline and raging flames course through his veins as he ducks and dodges, occasionally being clipped by the end of the Oni’s decaying blade. The cuts sting and his fingers throb, but he pays them no mind, only concentrates on killing the remaining three pests.

His surroundings and thoughts blur, mind swirling and blanking all at once.

He feels his hands lash out, clawing at two of the approaching demons with unexpected precise, body moving much faster than his molasses-filled mind.

One hand lands on the Oni’s mask, shredding it entirely, leaving only the gaping hole of where a face should be.

_Guess there really isn’t anything under the mask, huh._

The other hand lands on the Oni’s sword, the shrill sound of blade against sharp nails ricochetting off the walls loudly.

The sound causes Donghyuck to wince.

He refocuses his attention on the Oni to his left, the other trying to recover over losing its mask. The Oni’s sword whips through the air, slicing in quick succession. The cuts flourish across Donghyuck’s protective arms, sizzling as they slice through tan skin.

Anger causes his flames to burn even brighter, a steaming aura hovering around him. Throwing a left elbow, his right hand stretches, attempting to grasp the blade’s hilt. Success. Left hand shoving the Oni’s face childishly, right hand aflame.

The sword dissolves into ash, the Oni following.

He scans the room, only seeing the mask-less demon. He swears he counted five. A frown paints across his lips, the grin finally fleeing.

His leg whips around, catching the faceless bitch off guard and causing it to slump on the floor. Donghyuck immediately berates it with a series of blows, letting the addiction of the flames engulf him.

Just as he destroys the badly-beaten Oni’s blade, a hilt protrudes from his abdomen.

_So that’s where the other one went._

Blood bubbles at his lips. The wound is absolutely excruciating. The blades of the Oni are already fucking horrible, even if only nicked.

Donghyuck doesn’t recommend having one wedged in your side. Not too fun.

He barely manages to catch himself as his body starts to give out on him, limbs becoming lead. The Oni who fucking stabbed him appears directly in front of him. Donghyuck swears the expressionless creature is sporting a mask of amusement and infinite satisfaction.

Donghyuck spits at it, blood and saliva mixing and streaking down his chin. _Fucking disgusting._

Running purely on stubbornness, head swimming, he wraps his hands around the blade, desperately ignoring the pain. The blade warps under the pressure of his dimmed heat, enough to where Donghyuck is able to snap the blade and send that motherfucker back to whatever Hell it came from.

Flames sprint to seal the wound, burning it closed.

“Good fucking riddance.”

Unfortunately, that’s where his strength decides to fail him. His knees buckle, and he falls face first onto the floor, cringing at the crack his nose makes as it slams against the hospital tile.

“Oh my fucking god, Donghyuck?” a voice startles. Donghyuck doesn’t immediately register it until shaky hands cautiously flip him over, flitting from one injury to another.

“Hey, hey, hey. Can you open your eyes for me? Donghyuck?” Heavy worry coats the words. Donghyuck latches onto the words, trying despairingly to cling onto consciousness.

He manages to crack his eyes open, familiar brown orbs staring into his. He flinches and rolls onto his side, a sharp sound of pain stuck in his throat as coughs wrack his body. Blood spews from his mouth, and he gasps, trying to inhale.

“Shh,” Mark’s voice coaxes softly, soft hands running through Donghyuck’s matted hair. Donghyuck would normally be appreciating how Mark tramples his own fear to calm Donghyuck, but he’s too busy panicking and spewing a wonderful mixture of blood and spit to even think about it. 

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps, attempting to physically drag himself away from Mark. “I’ll burn you.” He sounds fucking awful.

Mark cradles him closer. “No, you won’t. Please let me help you.” He cups Donghyuck’s face, treating him with such care that Donghyuck feels like his heart may have more than one butter knife protruding from it. “Please.”

The pinprick of tears tease the edges of his eyes, and he squeezes them shut. He would normally refuse in complete and utter fear, but he is so tired. So fucking tired.

He whispers, strangled, “Okay. Take me home, please.”

“I love you,” Donghyuck adds drowsily. Consciousness is stolen from him.

_

 

When he comes to, Donghyuck momentarily freaks out.

_Fuck, what day is it?_

He sits up, way too quickly, causing his head to spin and bile to rise in his throat. He blinks rapidly, dizzy mind whirling to catch up with his surroundings.

A breath of relief forces its way past his lips as he realizes he is in his own bed.

An IV hangs above him, the needle pressed into his left arm, hoodie sleeve scrunched at his shoulder. The consistent drip fills the silence of his bedroom. He wonders if Mark stole it for him. The thought brings a fleeting smile to his lips.

A quick assessment of his pain level leads him to believe that only a few hours have passed, meaning he, thankfully, did not miss his flight home to Jeju, for winter break.

Feeling entirely shitty, he wishes he could simply peel off his skin and rid himself of the surface injuries. Except he likes his caramel skin shade, especially when it’s not mostly purple. Jesus Christ.

His ruined white t-shirt is no where to be seen, a fresh hoodie on his torso instead. Thankfully, he notes that his singed sweatpants are still on. Gratitude and respect washes through him, along with the steady thrum of pain.

Pulling up the hoodie, he sees a large, white bandage covering the stab wound. He peels it off, wincing, to reveal a blackened wound of where the Oni’s sword ran threw him. He didn’t bleed much, due to being able to seal the wound fast, plus the annoying sizzling sensation of the Oni’s blade bubbled away most of the blood.

The wound is pretty disgusting to look at, though. The skin surrounding it is bruised and puffy, the sickly colors stark against his tan skin. The spot itself is charred black, the skin completely dead.

_That’ll have a fun time healing._

Most of his other wounds have already begun stitching new skin, the scrapes and cuts becoming fresh, pink skin. The tenderness is still present.

Crinkling his face, he notes, with slight surprise, that his nose is only sore but not broken like he assumed once it crunched loudly on the hospital floor.

Bruises adorn several areas of his body, and he watches in rapt fascination as the blood vessels begin to heal themselves underneath his skin. They are usually healed by the time he sees, rather than feels, them.

He guesses the healing focused more on his stab wound than the little annoyances. And his hands.

Fright grips him as he stares at them. His hands are shaking so badly, but his eyes still latch onto the busted knuckles, the bruised palms, the blisters alongside the sides of his fingers. And mostly, the blackened fingertips.

The skin is almost completely absent, having assumably melted off. He almost throws up at the sight of his bone protruding grotesquely from his fingertips. Or lack there of.

He bites his bottom lip, hard, to prevent himself from letting out a choked sob.

Tears sting the back of his auburn eyes. Panic slithers up his spine.

He’s really done it now, huh.

He shakily removes the IV, awkwardly trying to avoid using the bones of his fingertips, which surprisingly are not painful. Just fucking disgusting to look at.

Standing, his legs shake and threaten to give out on him, but they manage to hold steady enough.

Suddenly, he hears Mark and Jaemin’s low voices murmuring in the kitchen. He choses not to listen.

Instead, he slips on his shoes, trying to ignore the feeling of bone against the scratchy material of his Nikes. Long sleeves pulled over his aching hands, hood up, he opens the window.

Expertly popping out the screen protecting it, Donghyuck carelessly crawls outside, softly jumping from his window on the second floor. He lands in a roll, gracious that their dorm is located on the backside of the building where no one ever is.

Breathing sharply, his legs flare in lingering pain and soreness. He clumsily picks himself up and sprints to the track, praying no one is there.

 

_

 

Thankfully, no one is. He assumes it’s too early for anyone to be there yet, but realistically, he has no sense of time whatsoever. He didn’t bother grabbing his phone, not that he has any idea of where it is anyways. Plus, his mind is so fuddled that he’s not sure he can even remember what day it is.

He is too physically exhausted to actually run, so he sits on the closest row of the small set of bleachers, near the track’s locker rooms.

The sun is, surprisingly, not overwhelming. It seeps across his features, the warmth covering the outside of him. The inside is cold.

Objectively, Donghyuck realizes he should be cold. It is the literally the middle of winter, a few weeks short of Christmas, but the cold only nips at his skin, the sun easily mixing with his naturally high body temperature and overthrowing the slight bite of winter.

His brain is flashing every memory it can recall, playing them on repeat. Over and over and over.

He futilely wishes he could turn it off.

_Mark knows._

He feels wetness streak down his cheeks, hears his throat gasp on its own sobs. His chest aches, the feeling of hollowness beating against it consistently. His body curls inward, instinctually trying to protect itself. Each choked sob hurts more than the last, and he immediately wants to cover his face with his hands.

His hands are too fucked for that, which only makes him cry harder. Which in turn, makes him start to laugh maniacally. His brain starts to slow, regaining slight composure.

_I’m really sitting at the track, crying my eyes out while laughing like a maniac. I’ve truly lost it._

His cries dwindle into soft, self-depreciating laughs and leftover hiccups. He wipes at his eyes with the oversized sleeves of his hoodie.

He hears footsteps approach the bleachers. Choosing to readjust the hoodie to make sure it’s still firmly covering his head, he stands, attempting to quietly slip away from whoever is present.

“Donghyuck.” _Fuck._

His steps falter for a second, before he speeds up, preferring to avoid Mark rather than simply talk to him. Donghyuck’s lifelong motto is: avoiding problems is always easier than facing them, so fucking run.

He doesn’t get the chance to because Mark is sprinting to be in front of him, slightly hunched to meet Donghyuck’s downward eyes.

“Are you okay? Are the wounds healing okay? You shouldn’t even be up. You nearly gave Jaemin and I a heart attack.” Instantly bombarding with worry.

It’s slightly overwhelming.

Donghyuck only nods, not knowing how to properly respond. He turns to leave again but pauses at Mark’s tone of voice.

“Please, I just want to talk,” Mark’s tone is pleading, anxiety coating the syllables.

Donghyuck feels slightly sick at the realization that he is the cause of Mark’s distress. He complies quietly, taking a seat back on the bleachers, eyes still not leaving the ground.

He counts, pressing each finger bone against the bone of his thumb, hearing the dull clack each press against bone makes. He shivers at the sound.

Internally, Donghyuck is gripped by utter panic. Mark knows, Mark knows, Mark fucking knows. He’s completely petrified and terrified for the older boy’s reaction.

“Donghyuck, it’s okay,” Mark whispers, “I knew. I already knew.”  
Donghyuck’s gaze whips up at that, hood falling back. “What?” God, his voice is shot. The effort of actually speaking makes his dry throat crack in protest.

Mark’s eyes are wide, child-like. They hold no fear, no resentment.

_Of course they wouldn’t,_ Donghyuck reasonably thinks. _When has Mark ever turned away from me? When has he ever been afraid?_

“I’m not a complete idiot, Hyuck.” Mark cracks a small smile, reserved only for Donghyuck. “You always smell like a lit match. And your clothes are usually singed. Plus, your scrapes and bruises disappear much faster than they should.”

Donghyuck is speechless. He stares dumbly, mouth parted in shock.

Mark rubs the skin of his neck shyly. “And your skin is unnaturally hot. Oh and I’ve seen your eyes as they shine gold. That’s not exactly common.” The nervousness is still present in his voice.

Donghyuck tsks. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you aren’t,” Mark replies immediately, tucking a loose strand of Donghyuck’s greasy hair behind his ear. Donghyuck, for once, does not flinch. He almost leans into the touch before realizing that his hair is actually fucking disgusting, considering he hasn’t showered since the fight.

Mark’s eyes reflect a kindness that Donghyuck can hardly bare, instead choosing to watch as sharp cheekbones color. “I just know you,” he murmurs, shrugging nonchalantly. The nonchalance is clearly forced.

“How’d you even find me?” Donghyuck asks, voice small. He isn’t even sure Mark heard him until a soft response is given.

“I,” Mark pauses, a contemplative expression adorning his face, “knew you’d be here.”

Donghyuck stares at him, confused. He has never told anyone about his love for three am track escapades.

Mark glances away, cheeks further coloring in embarrassment. “I might have followed you that one time, when you snuck out while everyone was asleep.”

Ah, the Stranger Things 2 binge.

“Guess everyone wasn’t asleep,” mutters Donghyuck, feeling slightly stupid and significantly less like a badass Spy Kid.

“Lee Donghyuck, I need you to know that,” Mark’s lip is caught between his teeth, gnawing meekly; Donghyuck refuses to let his eyes stare, “I love you.”

“I know,” Donghyuck almost chokes on the words, “you’re my best friend.”

Mark’s eyebrows furrow. “That’s not what I meant.”  
Donghyuck’s brain instantly spews a million different things. He will not let himself assume. He can’t take the rejection. He can’t talk, can barely fucking breathe.

A hand waves in front of his face, Donghyuck ignores it, too caught up in the swirl of his mind.

“God, Hyuck,” Mark suddenly huffs, hands running through his hair. The annoyance in his tone snaps Donghyuck out of the whirlwind of his mind. “Stop fucking thinking.” Donghyuck startles at Mark swearing, especially at him; he opens his mouth to respond but Mark cuts him off.

“Just listen to me. I’m not being platonic,” - an eye roll that is suppose to be exasperation but Donghyuck can see it is prompted by nerves - “I am hopelessly fucking in love with you.”

Donghyuck almost spontaneously combusts. His cheeks flush a deep red. He feels his ears redden too, hopes his fire is too exhausted from yesterday to catch flame. God, that’d be horribly embarrassing.

Donghyuck raises his unsteady hands, cupping Mark’s face with his sleeves. He doesn’t shy away from Mark’s gaze, this time. Doesn’t shy away from Mark’s hands reaching to gently hold Donghyuck’s waist.

Donghyuck is finally able to feel Mark’s smile against his own.

 

_

 

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck does what he does best.

He runs. Both physically and emotionally, of course.

Well, not a lot physically because his body is still exhausted from the excessive healing it had to perform on itself, but he stupidly attempts to anyways. 

(He manages two miles before his legs give out, and he stays on the ground for a shamefully extensive amount of time.)

In the two days before his flight to Jeju, he completely avoids Mark and Jaemin, which proves to be quite the challenge considering Mark is persistent and Jaemin is literally his roommate.

But he manages.

Or maybe they simply know him well enough to leave him alone. The thought prickles oddly at the back of his mind. He isn’t sure what to make of that.

He packed lightly, opted for carry-on luggage instead of the horrible process of checking a bag. He shudders thinking about it.

Blessedly managing to grab a window seat, he stares at the wing of the plane as it begins to take off, mind inevitably wondering to Mark.

They had actually fucking kissed.

What the actual fuck did that mean?

The worst part is they didn’t talk about it afterwards, leaving Donghyuck to settle into insecurities and doubt.

Well, not completely. He knows Mark is in love with him, and he is still head over heels for the older dumbass. But, he is still afraid of how it will affect their friendship, and he has no idea where they stand now. They aren’t dating, at least he doesn’t think they are.

Where has this kiss left them? Donghyuck doesn’t fucking know.

Slipping his AirPods in and letting his ears be blessed by the easy music of Joji, he decides to just ignore the thoughts, as best as possible, and instead focus on how he is going to be the ~~worst~~ best brother. Meaning how he plans to embarrass Jisung in front of Chenle.

 

_

 

_message sent at 3:32 pm_

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ aye hYUNg,,,,,,,, flight jst land3d

 

_wasSUHp:_ Alright, Jaehyun and I are waiting in the car.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ jisoo christ,,,,, u txt like a fkn dad.

 

_wasSUHp:_ Shut up and get ur bitchass out here ,young man

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ ew u sound like ur a few centuries old stop

 

_wasSUHp:_ Hurry up

 

True to his word, a familiar silver Mazda is waiting in the onslaught of cars picking up various types of people. It is always interesting to Donghyuck how every single person in this airport is most likely (read: hopefully) a stranger, with their own individual story.

The uniqueness of people, despite how much he claims he hates everyone, is forever fascinating. It is also absolutely fucking terrifying how chaotic and fast-paced everyone is. Anxiety central. He keeps his head down.

Briefly shaking his head in an attempt to escape it, he runs to the dinted car, hastily dragging his struggling suitcase along with him. Not bothering with the trunk, he swings the car door open, uncaringly tossing the luggage into the backseat before crawling beside it.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he announces, the previously interesting chaos starting to become overwhelming.

Jaehyun laughs, while Johnny immediately responds with a “Language, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes playfully, “Yes, Dad.”

The responding eye roll is seen through the rearview mirror, but Donghyuck knows Johnny is smiling, can tell by the meek expression of Jaehyun’s face.

The thing is, Donghyuck isn’t really joking. Their father disappeared when Donghyuck was young, roughly leaving the ‘father’ title and inevitable responsibility to Johnny. Donghyuck thinks about that a lot, always trying to think of a way to show his gratitude to his older brother.

Donghyuck wishes he didn’t think about or see the gentle hand Johnny has placed slightly above Jaehyun’s knee. The oddly domestic action almost makes Donghyuck gag.

Too much love in the air, his pure bitterness and confusion over Mark Lee cannot fucking handle it.

No, absolutely not. Donghyuck refuses to think about he-who-must-not-be-named right now. Right now is for his family (and Jaehyun, who is pretty much his brother-in-law anyways.)

He sets his focus on the familiar sights of Jeju as they streak past the window and on Johnny’s pestering questions about how school is and comments about how he doesn’t call nearly enough.

_

 

The first thing he notices about home is that it looks exactly as he remembers. And the feeling of his mom’s arms encircling him tightly and pinching his cheek playfully feel the exact way he remembers too.

The familiarity is soothing.

His worst enemy is the same too.

The stairs.

Of course, Donghyuck begins to endlessly complain about how he already struggles up the challenging set of stairs, and now he has to drag an entire suitcase up them too.

He dramatically lays a hand over his forehead like a fucking maiden, and Johnny fake-wistfully cries, “Pauvre Donghyuck!”

Jaehyun takes pity on him and offers to carry the suitcase himself, but a look from Johnny causes him to hesitate.

“Carry it yourself, lazy ass,” his older brother tells him, attempting to sound stern but failing. One pout is all it takes for Johnny to concede, carrying the luggage himself. Donghyuck claps childishly, proud of his profound pout.

Halfway to his room at the corner of the house, Donghyuck is suddenly reminded that _oh yeah, I have a little brother._ He reroutes to Jisung’s room, already plotting how to annoy the little shit.

He swings Jisung’s door wide open - without knocking - and instantly sees a wild Chenle and Jisung sprawled on beanbags with crumbs of chips littering the carpet and game controllers in their laps, concentration strictly entertained only by the game displayed on the small TV.

“Mom,” Jisung starts exasperated, without looking up from his game, “I thought I told you to knock before coming into my room.”

Donghyuck’s face twists in disgust. “Bitch, do I look like-”

The voice finally causes Jisung’s gaze to snap up. He gapes, hands dropping the controller and feet already moving towards his older brother.

_Guess he wasn’t aware I was coming home. Thanks, family._

“Haechannie-hyung,” Jisung exclaims before wrapping Donghyuck in an unexpected hug.

Haechan. God, it’s been a long time since anyone called him by that nickname. And it’s been a long time since he was so unfazed by the amount of physical affection he’s received.

He knows he would never burn his family. He literally can’t. The kitsune “gene”, or whatever the fuck it is, didn’t manifest as prominently in the rest of his family. They don’t have flames, but they also aren’t hurt by them. Except for their fingertips. _Fingertips are bitches,_ Donghyuck decides, _like switches._

Donghyuck is also pleasantly surprised that he didn’t need to plan an embarrassment for Jisung. His brother’s own softness would be “embarrassing enough”, meaning Chenle finally gets to see the cute side of Sungie - which endlessly amuses Donghyuck.

Jisung pulls away, face flushed and mumbling, “I didn’t miss you or anything, just so you know.”

Donghyuck flicks his forehead. “Oh, shut it, you.” And with a greasy grin, he adds, "My presence is a fucking blessing.”

Donghyuck notices that the corners of his brother’s mouth twitch before a wide smile splits across Jisung’s face. Donghyuck feels himself smile back.

“Pretty sure Mark is the only one who fucking thinks that.” Chenle’s obnoxiously loud dolphin laugh echoes off the walls at Jisung’s comment. Donghyuck’s eye twitches.

_No thinking about Mark Lee. No thinking about Mark Lee. No thinking about Mark Lee._

“Pretty sure you’re four fucking years old, so don’t fucking swear.”

 

_

 

Christmas comes and goes, with Donghyuck eating way too fucking much purely because his mom wouldn’t stop pestering him with ‘you look too fucking thin’ and the classic ‘clearly you haven’t been eating properly, dumbass’.

He didn’t realize how much he missed his family until he is overwhelmed with them. He didn’t know that being overwhelmed doesn’t always have to be a bad thing.

And for the most part, he doesn’t think about Mark, and he certainly does not text him.

Donghyuck considers himself a professional at avoiding his problems.

Not that Mark is a problem.

Take two: Donghyuck considers himself a professional at avoiding his problems and his fears.

Not that he fears Mark. Well, he sort of does.

Anyways.

He only has a few hours left in Jeju, the dark shadows on his bedroom walls reminding him. They taunt, shifting and morphing with every toss and turn Donghyuck makes.

He can’t fucking sleep because sleep means he has to wake up. And waking up means he has to leave his family and go back to Seoul. And Seoul means Mark and Jaemin, and automatically Jeno and Renjun because Jaemin has undoubtedly told them as much as possible, excluding the kitsune part, of course. Jaemin would never tell a secret that isn’t his.

He smiles at the thought, an annoying pang flowering in his chest. He misses his friends. He misses texting them and talking to them and hanging out, even if hanging out can be a bit exhausting and overwhelming.

Neutral overwhelming, not good overwhelming like his family but not bad overwhelming to where he wants the ground to swallow him whole and shoot him through a tunnel directly to Hell.

(He’ll burn brighter than the rest of them.

Another day though.)

Donghyuck realizes suddenly that it must seem like he has completely fallen off the face of the Earth. A crazed laugh shoots through him. He has had zero contact with literally anyone from Seoul.

For the past two weeks, his life has purely revolved around his family and his very comfortable bed. And the fridge. Never forget the fridge.

No school. No exams. No essays. No Oni. No flames (other than the ramen that one time). No friends. No confusing best friend with the last name Lee.

He almost feels like he stepped into an alternate universe.

The bedroom door opens, the creaking absent. He didn’t realize they fixed it.

“Donghyuck, you awake?” his older brother whispers.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, despite Johnny not being able to see them. He can probably sense it. “Well, dumbass, would I respond if I wasn’t?”

A deep, dramatic sigh. “Do you always have to be a bitch?”

“My speciality.”

Johnny steps into the room, clicking the door closed. He sits at the end of the bed, peering at Donghyuck in the darkness.

“You wanna tell me what’s been bothering you?” Johnny asks easily.

It’s Donghyuck’s turn to sigh, utterly unsurprised. He knew it was a matter of time before someone asked. “Not particularly.”

A huff. “Am I allowed to guess?”

Donghyuck makes a sound of agreement, that sounds more like he’s being strangled or something. _Which sucks by the way, I don’t recommend being strangled._

Donghyuck’s grateful for the lack of light when Johnny says, “Mark.”

The younger boy remains silent.

“Yep, go ahead,” Johnny says softly.

And Donghyuck does.

Or at least attempts to. He’s not always great with words.

“So, um, he saw me with the Oni, right? And I might have admitted that I love him as I was, you know, passing out from having the shit beat out of me - and beating the shit out of them, for the record.” He pauses, trying to gather his thoughts. “And I might have tried to avoid him but failed. And uh,” - he clears his throat nervously, but ends up choking on his spit because he’s still lying on the bed - “we might have kissed. And he might have confessed. And I might not know what that means.”

Johnny lays beside him, elbows holding his lanky, noodle-resembling body up. Donghyuck continues to stare at the ceiling, feeling like a complete fucking idiot. He was aware that Johnny knew about his crush (understatement) on Mark, but he hasn’t ever explicitly admitted to it. Until now.

“Donghyuck, I love you, but you might be an idiot.” Donghyuck curls into a ball, wrapping himself tightly around his pillow, feeling infinitely embarrassed and dumber than before.

“Hey, hey, I’m not done. Mark loves you back. That’s all it means. Don’t overthink it, okay? Just talk to him.” The words are soft, fondness spilling over.

Donghyuck mumbles into his pillow, “I’m the fucking king of overthinking.”

Johnny pats the roly-poly that is his little brother. “Tell me about it.”

“About what?” he asks curiously.

Johnny is everlastingly patient. “About your overthinking.”

And Donghyuck tries his best to explain his anxiety. He tries to explain how sometimes he can’t speak, can’t breathe. How everything is sometimes too scary, too overwhelming. And how avoidance is an escape route, the easy way out because he can’t take the hard route.

He just can’t.

Donghyuck finds it interesting that here, in the dark with one of the people he probably trusts the most, he can be open. He can speak his thoughts for once, or at the least convey them because he probably stutters more than he actually speaks.

The dark embraces him. He holds on.

“Maybe talk to someone about it more often. Whether it be me or Mark or Jaemin, or whoever. And free counseling is offered at uni, right?”

“Your idea has been strictly vetoed.”

Johnny exhales audibly, a puff of incredulous laughter leaving his lungs. “You really are something.” A few beats of silence pass. “Just try. For yourself. When everything becomes a little too much, don’t bottle it up. Try to talk to someone. I promise it could help.”

“It won’t,” responds Donghyuck stubbornly, insistence curling the ends of his syllables.

“It won’t disapparate your anxiety, but maybe it’ll ease some of it. Just a suggestion, Haechannie.”

He snorts lightly. “You’re still a fucking Potterhead.”

He can imagine Johnny’s eye roll. “Language,” the older boy starts pointedly, “and don’t act like you aren’t. I literally saw you retaking the Pottermore quiz on Tuesday.”

“Slytherin is still the best.” He pushes Johnny off the bed before the tall boy can argue.

(It does earn him a DiNozzo slap and a loud whisper of ‘fucking bitch’. He smugly responds, “Language,” and promptly receives another playful slap.)

 

_

 

The airport is significantly less crowded at four am, Donghyuck notes.

He is honestly surprised his eyes are open.

Johnny drops him off at the airport, squeezing him into a tight embrace before handing him a small package.

Donghyuck stares at it in confusion. His brain is still too sleep muddled to properly process what day it is, much less what he’s holding or why he’s holding it.

“It came in the mail for you,” Johnny saying, ruffling his brother’s hair. He sends a wink, to which Donghyuck cringes. “It’s from Mark.”

Donghyuck is slightly more awake now.

Only slightly. He still requires immediate caffeine.

He tucks the small box into his backpack, before hugging Johnny again and heading inside.

The busyness of the airport is absent due to it being literally four in the fucking morning. It’s oddly peaceful.

Donghyuck gets through security quickly and finds the nearest Starbucks. It takes him around five minutes to A) decide which drink he wants to get diabetes from and B) gain enough courage to actually order.

(He mentally practices a few times but somehow still manages to fumble out his order, cheeks reddening. Next time, he’s ordering through the app.)

Afterwards, he waits patiently at the gate, slipping in his AirPods to listen to Lorde. Boarding begins shortly after, and he manages to snag a window seat in the cramped plane. He knows the flight is not full, hopes someone will not sit next to him.

His phone vibrates suddenly.

 

_message received at 5:26 am_

 

_angry elf:_ txt when your plane lands. we’re picking you up.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ dw ab it,,,, ill just catch a cabbbbb

 

_angry elf:_ bitch i said text when your plane lands. it wasn’t a suggestion. jfc kids nowadays

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ <333333 mwah bb

w3’r3 the saMe age +++ 00 bich

 

_angry elf:_ shut. jeno’s driving so we rollin up in the soccer mom yota.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ vetoed,,, id rath3r get a cab

 

_angry elf:_ jaem and i must suffer, so do you.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ i suffer enough lmao,,,,,

 

_angry elf:_ well, we wouldn’t fucking know, would we? considering you disappeared for two weeks, jeez.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ imsorry.

 

_angry elf:_ i know you are. just, at least text us and tell us you aren’t dead next time. or better yet, just don’t have a next time hm.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ ://

 

_angry elf:_ believe it or not, there are people who care about your dumbass.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ luv u 2 injunnie mwahmwahmwah <3333

 

_angry elf:_ shut the fuck up.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ aw,,, +++ so s weet. i see how u manag3d to charM twO boys now , WOw

 

_angry elf:_ i will kill you.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ srry sweatie,,,, couldnt hear u +++ flights abouta take off ttyl bb

 

The flight home is, thankfully, smooth. About fifteen minutes before landing, Donghyuck finally gains the courage to open the package from Mark.

He gently unwraps the box, attempting to be as quiet as possible to avoid annoying other passengers.

He opens the box, huffs when seeing there are two smaller boxes. He opens the larger of the two first, revealing a gold necklace with a small sun pendant.

It’s delicate and simple, subtle even. Donghyuck loves it.

The accompanying box includes the same sun in an earring, as well as petite gold studs. Using his phone’s camera, he slips in both sets of earrings, the singular sun earring in his left ear with a stud in his cartilage. The other stud slips into his right ear, in the same place as the sun on the left.

He fumbles with the necklace, nearly having a heart attack when he almost drops it, but manages to fit the clasp around his neck. The sun pendant rests directly on his sternum, almost meeting the neck of his (Johnny’s) oversized t-shirt.

A dopey, grateful smile remains on his lips for the remainder of the flight.

 

_message sent at 6:50 am_

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ jjust got off fliiiight,,,,,

 

_angry elf:_ okay, we r in line out front.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ whos we ????

 

_angry elf:_ 00 plus dumbass.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ riP me ,,,, ++++ lmao

 

_angry elf:_ jaem says to grow the fuck up.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ n0 bitch ??? jaemin who

 

_angry elf:_ his exact words (or rather mouthing) were “tell the bitch to grow the fuck up”. i was just being nice.

 

_the ugly hyuckling:_ le sigh,,,,, ++ see u in a sec sweetie

 

Jeno’s obnoxiously blue Toyota is, miraculously, directly in front of the airport, and the sight of Mark in the backseat causes all the air in Donghyuck’s lungs to flee, leaving him gasping momentarily before composing himself.

Mark’s eyes find his, and he makes a move to get out of the car, undoubtedly to be a fucking gentlemen and help Donghyuck with his bag, but Donghyuck shakes his hand politely, his lips curving slightly upwards at the Mark-ness of the gesture.

Jeno pops the trunk, and Donghyuck carelessly tosses his bag in, before crawling into the backseat alongside Mark and Renjun. (Much to his disappointment, he’s forced into the middle seat.)

“Aye, he isn’t dead!” Jeno exclaims, over Red Velvet’s My Second Date. (Kudos to Jaemin for the amazing song choice.)

He raises his hands, smiling sarcastically. “I pretty much am, after spending so much time with Jisung and Chenle. I have approximately one braincell left and am now completely deaf in my left ear. Thanks, Chenle.”

Jeno and Jaemin smile. Renjun playfully rolls his eyes. Mark laughs, hand brushing the edge of Donghyuck’s sweatpants.

The five each talk about their winter breaks, normalcy already beginning to seep back in, easing Donghyuck’s worries. Conversation eventually fades, Wendy’s beautiful vocals filling the space.

Jaemin turns up the music and starts singing obnoxiously, Jeno joining in despite not knowing the words. Renjun follows, and Donghyuck catches himself singing along too, smiling so hard his face hurts.

He looks over, and Mark is just unabashedly staring at him, gaze openly wondrous and mouth shaping an ‘o’. His eyes lock on the sun resting on Donghyuck’s sternum, and a smile overtakes his face. Donghyuck returns the overwhelming smile.

Good overwhelming.

Donghyuck links their pinkies. He’s not ready for hand holding yet, still worried about possibly burning Mark, but he’s also tired of being afraid of himself.

He’ll stay content with his baby steps because he knows Mark is patient, if not more so than he is. He trusts that Mark will stay. He finally trusts that he’ll stay too.

Jaemin’s eyes catch his in the rearview mirror, and Jaemin’s widen before scrambling for his phone. Donghyuck’s own phone dings not even a second later.

When he checks his phone half an hour later, he’ll see.

 

_message received at 7:31 am:_

 

_na squared:_ holY fuckjsCKi whIPPP3d CulTUre IN THBE B ACK SEAT

CRUSh CULURUEWMAKESME WANNA SPULL MY GUTS

jkjk u K NOW H3 MADW ME ST IN THE FR00NT SO HE cOUD SSIT B3SID U

bUT uR w34RIng th e SUNS ONOMGJgnsog

he kepT askng abt em

‘i should go with gold right? bc his skin would match perfectly. have u seen his skin? it’s literally so beautiful -’

uFUCKINGwu

HE L00kS AT U soSOFT,,,,, i-i’m a pr0ud mother woW

wonWOW

biTCH I KNOW UHEARur PJ0nE G0Ing OFF SNESWER ME]

ANSEWE**

ANSWE**

FUCXK

ANSWER*

oh MY God u LINKEd PINKI3s imfuCKING LOSINGIT IUM FINNA CRY

 

_

 

The next few weeks of trying to readjust to school are pretty much death, but Donghyuck is getting there.

Jaemin had yelled at him for falling off the face of the earth, and then proceeded to nearly drown him in touch-less affection for the rest of the night. Typical Nana.

He and Mark had finally talked about everything. They had met up at Love Shot, a local coffee shop owned by the Byun-Parks. Normally, Donghyuck would be uncomfortable with the public environment, but the corner of the shop they chose was fairly secluded, plus the hour of night translated to desertion. Even the barista, an alumni named Taeil, was half-asleep.

Mark had told him, “You don’t owe me an explanation, but I’d like to ask for one,” while rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

And Donghyuck did. Explain everything, that is, albeit shaky.

It had taken a while for Donghyuck to force the words out, but once he started, it was like he couldn’t stop. He told Mark everything about being a kitsune, about why he rejected every touch. He told Mark about how he didn’t want to be afraid of himself anymore, even though he felt like a total idiot saying the cheesy words aloud.

“Thank you. For telling me,” Mark had responded softly, gently placing his fingertips over the younger boy’s, letting Donghyuck make the next step.

Donghyuck had wound their fingers together, squeezing tightly and nodded.

Mark whispered, “It doesn’t change anything, okay?” Had raised their intertwined hands to place a soft kiss to the tanned skin, causing Donghyuck to shiver.

Donghyuck smiled then, eyes full of hope and affection for his best friend, the love of his fucking life.

“I love you a lot, Mark Lee.”

Mark’s eyes had widened before creasing with his smile. “I love you too, dumbass.” He tentatively added a, “Can we actually date?”

Donghyuck rolled his eyes fondly. “Yes, dumbass,” he mocked, “I’d love to be boyfriends.” He was starting to think that maybe the smile is permanently stuck on his face.

“You should smile more, Hyuck. You’re so beautiful when you smile.”  
Donghyuck gagged but the lie had slipped through his hands as his cheeks flushed a bright red. “Ew, you’re so fucking cheesy. Shut the fuck up.”

No recent Oni attacks. Life mellowed out.

Donghyuck even attempted to follow Johnny’s advice.

He downed two coffees - one decaf, unfortunately - and headed to the counselors’ office located on campus.

His brain was on overdrive, thinking about what he’d say, how’d he say it, etc etc. And then it began the usual, what if you get choked up, what if you can’t speak? What if, what if, what if.

And before he could calm himself down, his breathing was becoming short and erratic, chest heaving. He had ducked into the nearest side pathway of campus, as secluded as possible while trying to catch his breath. Tears burned the back of his eyes as gasps struggled past his lips, fighting for air.

He had barely managed to dial a number, relief filling his ears as the other picked up.

“Donghyuck? Are you okay?” his older brother’s voice flitted in through the phone. Donghyuck couldn’t speak, couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Count, Donghyuck,” Johnny had replied evenly, quickly grasping the situation. “Count with me. One.”

Donghyuck couldn’t.

“Yes, you can. You can. One.”  
“One,” he rasped, the word puncturing his throat and scraping as it pried itself out.

Johnny’s voice had remained soft and slow, helping Donghyuck focus on the numbers.

Donghyuck wasn’t sure how much time passed before he was able to steady his breathing and shakily explain his panic.

“Thank you,” he finished, “for helping, I mean.”

HIs older brother hummed. “Of course, Hyuckie.” A quiet pause. “I think you should try again.”

Donghyuck had let out an unsteady exhale.

“I know. I know it’s scary, and I also know that I can’t completely understand. But I really think professional help could, and so I think you should try again.”

“I can’t-”

Johnny cut him off. “But you can. You’re probably worrying about all the possible situations, huh? Don’t you think that they’ve probably seen all and more of those possible scenarios? A therapist is an actual professional, Donghyuck.”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck responded, clearly unsure.

“You don’t have to go through all his shit. They could really help you.”

Donghyuck had grumbled a, “Language,” to which Johnny huffed.

“I’ll try, hyung.”

The second try was much smoother. Donghyuck was still freaking the fuck out, but he talked to Johnny the whole walk there, and the entire time in the waiting room was spent listening to calm music - a playlist of mainly Oh Wonder, Conan Gray, and Declan McKenna - , while echoing Johnny’s words in his head.

The session wasn’t horrible, to Donghyuck’s surprise.

Unsurprisingly, he had stumbled and stuttered, beginning to feel the rise of panic in the back of his throat. The counselor didn’t push him, let him take his time and helped him with different breathing exercises.

He had left feeling oddly hopeful.

His anxiety didn’t disappear, and he is still convinced that he will forever hate ordering at Starbucks, but the calming methods seem to help, his panic attacks becoming less common.

He even managed to adopt a second major, which his friends were incredibly proud of. They always knew he loved to dance, but only Jaemin and Mark truly knew why he hadn’t majored in it.

Granted, he nearly died talking to Taemin, fear of not being good enough and fear of the almighty dance God, Lee Taemin, melding into a black hole of utter self-doubt. Loads of fun.

He managed to survive, rhythmically counting his fingers. _Onetwothreefour._

And his audition for the dance team went well, if Taemin hiding a smile behind his hands was any proof. Or the congratulations Mark’s brother, Taeyong, and his boyfriend, Ten, offered.

Looking back, Donghyuck is actually proud of himself for once.

He feels like he just evolved from an eevee or something.

_Nah, that’s an insult to eevees, the superior pokemons. Those bitches can be whatever the fuck they want._

Currently, Donghyuck is curled up on his match-smelling bed with his boyfriend - which he still cannot fully comprehend, like what the fuck - watching the greatest movie of all time. He has gotten more comfortable with touch, actually beginning to trust himself and his control over his consistent flames.

(Originally, they were at Mark and Jeno’s dorm because Donghyuck was slightly self-conscious about how apparently all his belongings smell like a campfire, but the pair was kicked out, much to Donghyuck’s annoyance, by the three boyfriends.

Yes, they finally got together. About fucking time.

Donghyuck made sure to yell, “Be safe and use protection!” on his way out, sprinting down the dormitory halls to save himself from Renjun, the devil himself.)

“Donghyuck, we’ve literally watched this a million times. Do we have to watch it again?” Mark grumbles from above Donghyuck. Mark’s arms are loosely around his waist, chin atop Donghyuck’s orange curls. The feeling of his jaw moving atop Donghyuck’s head makes the younger boy squirm.

Donghyuck gasps, faux-affront coating his expression. “Of course we fucking do. Sharkboy and Lavagirl is forever superior. George Lopez is fucking iconic, don’t try me.”

“It’s forever fucking weird,” mumbles Mark. Donghyuck grabs the remote, pausing the opening credits while freeing himself from the confines of Mark’s embrace. He turns to face his boyfriend, eyebrows furrowing.

Mark laughs at his expression, smile reflecting only happiness, and uses his thumb to ease the crease between Donghyuck’s brows.

Donghyuck backs up on the bed slightly more, crossing his arms childishly. His lips are rapidly downturning into a frown, that annoyingly resembles more of a pout.

“You know,” Mark starts, still smiling, “you kinda remind me of Lavagirl.”  
Donghyuck scoffs. “Don’t insult my fucking queen like that.”

Mark rolls his eyes while reaching for Donghyuck’s hand, placing gentle barely-there kisses to each fingertip. A gentle reminder of his adoration for the younger boy.

Donghyuck knows Mark loves to cradle his hands, loves to treat them as if they are the most delicate feature of the tanned boy.

Probably because they are, considering how often Donghyuck manages to fuck them up.

But how the fuck else is he suppose to use his flames? He’s not Natsu.

After a few minutes of Donghyuck resisting Mark’s affection, the older boy concedes. “Okay, okay. We can watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl again, but next time, I get to pick the movie.”

Donghyuck’s entire face lights, something akin to joy lighting his features. Mark can’t even look away.

He cuddles himself back into Mark’s embrace, lying directly on top of the older and basking in the chill of Mark’s hands on the hem of his slightly ridden-up shirt.

Donghyuck runs hot. Mark runs cold.

(“You guys are pretty much Heat Miser and Snow Miser, if they weren’t, you know, brothers,” Jaemin once commented offhandedly.

Donghyuck had crinkled his nose. “Does that make you the purple wind bitch?”

Jaemin was not amused. No one likes that purple wind bitch.)

The black-haired boy nudges his face into Donghyuck’s neck, peppering the warm skin with small kisses. Donghyuck feels his cheeks flush, and he’s a hundred percent sure he resembles a firetruck.

Mark continues to adore the soft skin, occasionally nipping lightly at it.

Donghyuck feels like he’s about to actually die, his heart is beating so fucking loud. He suddenly freaks out, shoving Mark off while yelling, “Fuck,” and proceeding to sprint to the bathroom.

He doesn’t bother closing the door, only scrambles to the shower and turning the water as cold as possible before stepping in, still fully clothed.

Mark hovers by the doorway, clear confusion scrawled across his face. The confusion morphs into smug comprehension as steam starts to pour from Donghyuck’s skin, despite the freezing temperature of the water.

Mark dissolves into laughter, and Donghyuck dissolves into pure embarrassment, curling himself into a ball.

“Donghyuck,” Mark starts, words laced with leftover laughter.

Donghyuck gives a muffled, “What?”

Mark steps into the bathtub, ignoring the chill of the water, and wraps his arms around Donghyuck. He is still burning hot to the touch, off-balancing the frigidness of the water streaming above them.

“You don’t have to be so embarrassed. It’s cute.”

Donghyuck finally looks up, deadpanning. “It’s fucking mortifying.”

Mark smiles at him, tucking a wet strand of orange hair behind the other’s ear. “It’s cute,” he repeats, tightening his grip of the younger’s waist.

Donghyuck finds that Mark’s smile is contagious.

 

_

 

_Maybe, there is enough time to be happy. Maybe, we just have to find happiness in the busyness of our time,_ Donghyuck thinks. _Or maybe, happiness is just temporary, and my life will turn back to shit soon._

Donghyuck smiles to himself, knowing there’s probably a Nogistune somewhere near. He laughs, deciding he’ll deal with that later. 

**Author's Note:**

> (today marks exactly four week since i started this fic im tired.)
> 
> also if u understood any of my references then u deserve a cookie
> 
> ++++ thanks for reading :)


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